The Best Time
by spaboolly
Summary: Ian claims to always have the best time with the Eppes Brothers. Who could blame him? They always have the most interesting cases, and he has to admit that part of him admires Charlie's voodoo. But now Don is on his turf, helping him with his case. Or at least, that's how it was supposed to be. Ian's perspective of events in Spree, Two Daughters, Pandora's Box.
1. Calling in Favors

_A/N: Because Ian is the ultimate badass, and badasses always make great characters for stories from inside their heads. He may be a snarky sniper, but he's still human. So this is a not-quite-episode-tag to Spree, Two Daughters, and Pandora's Box. It starts at the beginning of Spree and connects events in and between the three episodes. Some of the scenes are taken from the show, but as I move into the story it will be more focused on scenes that weren't in the episodes that I think should have been, including my take on why Don is so pissed off next time he sees Ian after the spree killer case. _

_All the parts in italics are Ian's thoughts._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs, the characters, any dialogue or descriptions taken directly from the episodes mentioned above (or any other episodes that may be referenced, including Sniper Zero and Toxin) and accordingly make no claim upon them. All that stuff belongs to Heuton and Falacci, who were kind enough to make this awesome show (why would you cancel it?!). The only thing I might own is my creativity and some of Ian's wonderful sassiness._

_Okay, that's all the important stuff. Onward!_

* * *

Special Agent Ian Edgerton hated calling in favors. In contrast to the longstanding tradition of frequently dangerous occupations, as well as the standard regulations of the FBI, the sniper/tracker specialist always worked alone. Even when his assignments saw him cooperating on an investigation with a team, he remained firmly entrenched in his lone wolf persona. And he saw no reason to change that; it had served him well over the years. Even in Afghanistan, where he'd quite literally been famous for it.

But in the past two years, he had finally been forced to make an exception to this rule. He could never quite identify the exact nature of the appeal that Agent Eppes's team from the Los Angeles field office held for him. Part of it was the great deal of respect that he felt for Eppes himself. In Edgerton's mind, he was an ideal field agent: just the right balance of experience and awareness of his weaknesses to be extremely capable without bordering on arrogance. In short, Don Eppes was someone Ian knew he could rely on, and that was not a designation he often assigned to the agents he was forced to work with.

Add to that Don's team. Reeves, a skilled profiler who never showed any insecurity about her exclusive position in "the boys' club." Sinclair, a steadfast and reliable guy who wasn't afraid to be a hardass when the situation called for it.

And Granger. Out of the agents on Don's team, Granger was probably the one whose personality was most naturally opposite to his own. The friendly, open, good-natured Idaho farmboy could be the poster child for the "All-American G-Man." Edgerton didn't buy it for a minute. No, Granger was a soldier. And Ian didn't have to talk with the man about his experiences to know what an impact Afghanistan had had on him. Although he could have done without the hero worship.

The true reason he had the best time with this team, however, was undoubtedly the Professor. Though he understood little of Dr. Charles Eppes's crazy math voodoo, he had to admit - at least to himself; never out loud - that it worked. But it was the man himself who really made him look forward to working cases in L.A. He could always expect something interesting, something unexpected. The Professor was... fascinating. Ian prided himself on his wit, and he admired anyone who had the balls to meet his challenges, as the Professor had when they'd first met.

So, in complete contrast to his usual standard of operating, Ian had to acknowledge two strange feelings when he sneakily made his way into the cramped small-town diner and found Eppes's team analyzing the scene. One, he was pleased to see them again. And two, he was slightly disappointed that Don hadn't brought his brother along. _Can't believe I'm actually starting to look forward to hearing that angle-figuring soap bubble tree nonsense_, he thought.

He noted the team discussing the obnoxious excuse for poetry scrawled in the condensation inside the door of a freezer, which he guessed had previously contained a decent quantity of burritos, and decided it would be a good time to make his trademark Linger-in-a-Corner-Until-the-Opportunity-Arises-to -Make-a-Sarcastic-Quip approach. _Because people just don't seem to notice me until I talk._

"At least he got it to rhyme this time," he said by way of greeting the team. Their faces all lit up with recognition, handshakes were exchanged, and Ian began to explain the particulars of his latest hunt.

"Buck likes burritos. He eats them frozen, like popsicles."

"Buck?" Granger inquired, with just enough curiosity and surprise in his tone to make Ian mentally remind himself that these guys were used to tracking evidence, not fugitives. The familiarity with his quarry was unusual to them. Except, of course, for Don, who understood the mentality all too well from his own years in Fugitive Recovery.

"Winters," Ian supplied. "The other one is Crystal Hoyle. She left prints around the cash drawer." When those prints had hit the federal database, Edgerton, as the agent in charge of the case, had immediately been notified of another in a long chain of robberies by the two lovers. They'd been steadily leading him on a path directly into Eppes's neck of the woods, and, with little luck in determining their motives thus far, he had finally resigned to calling in some help.

"Thanks for making the drive," he said, with as much sincerity as he'd ever shown. "I know we're out of your AO."

"Eh, no problem," Don replied amicably as he turned to Reeves and Granger. "We owe Ian a favor or two, right guys?" He smiled that naturally disarming smile of his, and, in spite of his usual rugged stoicism, Ian couldn't help but return a small grin of gratitude.

After a brief rendezvous at the FBI office to discuss the details of the case and do an initial review of the evidence gathered thus far, Don made the suggestion that the two of them visit CalSci to consult Charlie about the crime spree duo's seemingly directionless cross-country flight.

* * *

Ian had seen torture. His time in Afghanistan had left him with a better understanding of the practice than he cared to admit, though he was aware of certain soft-spoken rumors related to that understanding that had spread through the FBI. But the last place he expected to see such a thing was in the Professor's chaotically organized office.

_What the hell?_ was all he could think as he took in the sight of one of the Professor's fellow nutty academics - or so he assumed based on the man's demeanor and style of dress, complete with safety goggles - holding a mallet over the cement block lying on top of Charlie, who himself was lying on a literal bed of nails. Big ones. Edgerton didn't need the Professor's level of understanding of math and physics to know that the instrument was held at the apex of a perfect arc to send it crashing into the heavy block.

Don's sharp yell made him realize, a bit shamefully, that he had just been standing there, staring at the bizarre scene in confused fascination. It wasn't often something stunned him. He was even more confused when Charlie quickly reassured his brother that everything was fine, which earned him a typically sarcastic, adrenaline-induced response from Edgerton, before meeting Ian's bewildered glance with an amused smile. _I know the Professor isn't exactly what you would call normal, especially in his interactions with people, but is he really laughing at the look on my face when he's about to be_-

His train of thought was disrupted when the two scientists cheerfully decided that a "demonstration" would be the most effective way of reassuring the deeply concerned FBI agents, who were now looking at each other wondering if they should shoot the man and ask questions later. Not that it mattered; neither of them had time to pull their guns before Ian found himself jumping back and turning away from the sight of the mallet slamming down onto the cement block, which broke into pieces from the force of the blow.

A force which, according to the thankfully non-perforated Professor's explanation, had been dispersed by his evenly distributed weight upon the sharp spikes. Out of some sense of morbid curiosity, Ian strode forward to place the palm of his hand against the nails to gauge just how sharp they were.

"If you don't mind my asking," Ian said as the Professor sat up and removed the pieces of cement and the goggles he'd been wearing, "what exactly does all that accomplish?"

The reply came from the older man, whom Charlie introduced as Professor Larry Fleinhardt, that it garnered the "unwavering attention" of his physics students. _I'll bet._

Ian recognized the name from a conversation he'd had with Charlie early on in their... Association? Collaboration?

Friendship?

One of the first things Ian had noticed about the diminutive mathematician was that he was not at all hesitant to talk about himself. He'd been happy to inform - not brag, as the Professor had defended when Edgerton made a crack about his seemingly boundless forthrightness - the agent all about his time at Princeton during his early teen years. The mention of his mentor had been relatively brief compared to the overshadowing descriptions of his premier accomplishments in academia, but Ian had a gifted memory. _If not _quite_ as gifted as the Professor's._

Don quietly filled Charlie in on the reason for their visit. Which, in light of the unnerving scene they had stumbled upon, Ian had to admit he had nearly forgotten. Despite the gruesome and excessively violent nature of the case, he could see Charlie's eyes light up with a sort of innocent excitement, anticipating a new problem to keep his brain occupied for awhile, and couldn't help grinning a little at the way his expression reminded him of a kid on Christmas morning. Not that he had much firsthand experience with that.

Ian recalled another more recent conversation he'd had with the Professor, while they were up in the mountain town of Sibley tracking down a wanted cattle rancher named McHugh. In addition to having enough public support to curtail any hope of the FBI and the Marshals getting assistance from the locals in apprehending him, McHugh had lived in the area his whole life, which gave him enough of a home field advantage to stay ahead of even the Bureau's best tracker.

_Hunted that bastard for weeks, and then the Professor shows up and finds him in one day using his voodoo._

Ian had been skeptical. And, in truth, still was. But he also had to admit that the Professor's help had been invaluable in solving both his and Don's overlapping cases. So it was with these thoughts on his mind that the tall, stoic sniper crossed his arms over his broad, muscular chest and resigned himself to asking the sheltered academic for help.

"I remember how that voodoo of yours helped to tighten the search grid the last time around," he said with a slight smirk.

"Voodoo?" Fleinhardt cut in. And Ian noted with a hint of amusement that Charlie did not hesitate to seize on the opportunity to proclaim the injustice of Agent Edgerton's stubborn refusal to bow before his almighty math.

"In spite of my _invaluable_ assistance," the Professor said, his voice rising in a preemptive defense of the retort he anticipated, "On two instances, mind you, Agent Edgerton remains skeptical of the analytical side of manhunting."

It was most certainly not in Ian's nature to back away from a challenge. But from the moment they had first met, in a sniper's perch overlooking the open street where a postal worker had been slain, and Ian had immediately taken a liking to clashing wits with Eppes's genius younger brother, he had known that the two of them would forever fall on opposite sides of a debate that would never be won. Even if they did, occasionally, have to acknowledge the merits of the other's position.

Besides, he had two killers on the loose, and every moment he took bringing them into custody could mean more lives lost. That was another thing he'd learned in Afghanistan: that patience, a fundamental requirement for a sniper, sometimes came with a price.

"The instinct part of me says not to miss any bets," he said simply, ignoring the slight disappointment on Charlie's face when the agent refused to bite.

"Well hey," the Professor replied, a bit of laughter evident in his voice as he made it clear he was about to have the last word. "Let's hope we can come up with something a little more substantive than instinct."

Ian's signature smirk returned. _Don't get too cocky, Professor. I won't acquiesce to your neat, rational view of the world that easily. I just have bigger priorities._

As the Professor's dark eyes scanned over the map Ian had brought for him, the agent could see the familiar turn of gears as his brilliant mind worked on identifying and processing something the rest of them would probably never have thought to look for.

"Did you _forget_ to mark a point... here?" Charlie asked, using his finger to highlight a spot on the map slightly north of the route he believed his killers had taken.

"No," he answered softly, mostly to keep the tinge of indignation out of his voice.

"No?"

"No, we've had no sightings anywhere in Wyoming," he confirmed, with a little more annoyance seeping through. As skilled as he was at reading people, Ian could never tell if Charlie's choices of phrasing when not in Math Lecture Mode were designed to irk people or if they could just be put down to simple social ineptitude as a byproduct of his genius.

Somehow, Ian knew it didn't matter. Because experience told him that the Professor's math was almost always right, even if he couldn't actually explain why. A memory flashed in his mind: the Professor's response when Ian had invited him to dinner as a thank you and asked him to explain how he'd come up with the soap bubble algorithm that had helped them locate McHugh.

"_Everything is numbers. Math is logic; it's rationality. It's our way of understanding events and patterns in the natural world, of quantifying those events so that they can be analyzed, predicted, and reproduced. Can I tell you a secret, Ian? What I do really isn't any different than what you do. In the FBI, I mean. It's all common sense really. My methods and algorithms and theories are things you use every day. Most people just aren't aware of it like I am."_

"Knowledge plus a guess," Ian knowingly responded to Charlie's long, overly technical explanation of the process that led him to the missing Wyoming dot. "Where I come from, that's a hunch."

_Looks like I get the last word after all, Professor._

* * *

_This idea started out as a very short one-shot, but uh... yeah. Once I start writing it turns into something like this. Hope you enjoy it!_


	2. Making Coffee, Making Friends

_Has anyone else ever noticed that Ian just like... **always** has coffee? Seriously._

* * *

Ian tried not to contemplate what criminals were doing while he was sitting around an office, waiting for their understanding of evidence and motive and psych profiles to bring them to the point where they could get ahead of his fugitives. Still, sometimes it was inevitable that his mind would travel down that muddy path.

This was one of those times. The one small mercy for the two weeks he'd spent chasing Hoyle and Winters along the interstates had been the narrow choice of targets. They would hit a corner store or gas station in some podunk little town every few days to get their fill of bloodshed and whatever else they needed. But in those situations at least the potential for loss of life had been limited to the unlucky employees and hapless customers who'd picked the wrong time to stop in for lunch.

_There'll be no shortage of prey in the country's second largest city, that's for damned sure._

As it was, they had almost nothing to point them in the right direction. And Ian was getting agitated just sitting still and waiting. That was an odd little facet of his personality: the inherent conflict between the part of him that was a sniper and the part of him that was a hunter. He could spend days lying in one spot, barely moving a muscle, waiting to make a single skillfully placed shot to complete his mission. On the other hand, when presented with a good hunt, he always liked to be on the move. Learning his prey, stalking them, giving chase, and finally getting the chance to pounce. _Oh yes, it was satisfying either way._

Right now, however, the only thing he found remotely satisfying was the ever-present cup of coffee in his hands. _Another nice thing about the L.A. office. Great coffee. As long as Granger's not making it, according to Eppes._

He and Reeves had just given the team their initial analysis of the two spree killers, whom he had been considering mentally reclassifying. There was something about the two that had just never quite fit with that standard label. They were too... focused. Too dedicated to the violence of what they were doing, which generally suggested at least some degree of personal attachment or significance. Reeves's profile assessment seemed to agree with him. Not that he really needed to hear their discussion to figure that out. He knew his prey.

Ian found himself making his way over to the break room for a refill after their brief meeting was over, and grimaced as he found Colby standing in front of the disappointingly empty pot, reaching for a bag of coffee beans.

"Allow me, Granger," he said firmly, with a slightly sardonic grin. _I'm way below my coffee quota for the day, and there's no way in hell I'm letting you mess up my next three cups._

The younger agent handed the bag over with muttered thanks and stepped aside to let Ian work. Most of his meals may consist of freshly carved meat roasted on a stick, but Eppes's team had learned that he could make a damn good pot of coffee when he set his mind to it.

Even though his eyes remained fixed on the task in front of him, Ian was acutely aware of everything Granger was doing on the edge of his field of vision. The young man's eyes seemed to be set on a repeating cycle: five seconds looking around the room, three seconds staring at Edgerton. He shifted slightly on his feet, which belied the seemingly casual way he was leaning against the counter top. Ian heard him take in a breath, preparing to say something, but then catch it as he apparently changed his mind.

Ian supposed he couldn't blame the man for being a little... nervous... around him. The two of them had only met once, briefly, when Granger and Sinclair had visited him in Sibley to swap information about the case concerning McHugh. Granger had spoken only a few words to him during the exchange, so he really knew very little about him besides his name and the quick analysis he had made of the extroverted agent's personality. But Ian hadn't missed the gleam in the younger man's eyes as Sinclair had introduced them.

Despite his build and obvious sense of pride, Ian wouldn't have immediately pegged him for a soldier if not for that look. He seemed too cheery for someone who had seen the kind of things they had in Afghanistan. But unfortunately Ian could spot from experience the distinctive look when a former military colleague recognized his name. Far too much experience for his taste.

Ian loved, and deserved, to be respected for his skills as a sniper. Idolized... well, that bothered him. Almost as much as the nickname.

Ian finally decided to speak, to alleviate the obvious awkwardness between them. Certainly not because he pitied the younger agent's discomfort. _Hell no, the bastard son of Clint Eastwood and Yoda takes pity on no one._

"What made you decide to join the FBI, Granger?" Ian was genuinely curious. It wasn't unusual for people to transfer from the military to some field of law enforcement, especially with the variety of training available these days.

But most of them were people like him, career soldiers with rare skills or experience in Special Forces, who had finally decided they'd seen enough of war and wanted to get out of the game with at least a fraction of their souls intact. People who simply were not designed to work desk jobs.

From his age and the bit that Ian had overheard of the conversation between Granger and his partner when David had presented him, he knew the other agent wasn't one of those people. _"That guy was a sniper _legend_ in Afghanistan. You'd see his work everywhere; you'd never see him."_

"Not much else I could do with three years' training in interrogation techniques," he answered. His tone was a bit sarcastic, but Ian could read the earnestness in it as well. And the hint of excitement. _Trust me, Granger. I'm not really that great. Not even close._

Ian gave him a vaguely inquisitive look: eyes on his, slightly raised eyebrow, lips pressed together in thought. He had an expressive face, when he chose to anyway.

Colby explained by adding: "Did my time in CID."

_Army Criminal Investigations Division. Dealt with them once or twice_, he thought grimly, long-buried memories threatening to rise to the surface of his mind.

"And here I thought you were a grunt," Ian replied, letting his usual sarcastic smirk make its first appearance in the conversation. It seemed to make Colby a bit more comfortable with him. _Yes, Granger. Your god is human. I smile, laugh, glare, frown, eat, drink, sleep, and have sex just like any other guy. Well, maybe not the last one._ Relationships conflicted with his lifestyle; he preferred to stick to his guns.

"Only when I didn't have someone's ass to bust," Colby joked, grinning. Ian gave a soft snort. Granger may be a friendly guy, but he was built like a wrestler. He couldn't imagine many suspects wanting to go toe to toe with the man.

They talked for a few minutes longer, until the beep of the coffee machine drew their attention and Ian finally got his much-needed caffeine fix. He downed half the cup in one gulp, savoring the hot, bitter taste as it went down his throat. He noticed Granger giving him an odd look and quirked a brow.

"How do you manage to keep your hands from shaking well enough to hit anything, man?" Colby was shaking his head in amazement, truly bewildered at the legendary sniper's coffee-guzzling.

"You don't get to be the fifth best shot in the country for nothing, Granger." Ian smirked and downed the rest of his coffee. Colby was still shaking his head as the door opened and Sinclair joined them, immediately grabbing his own cup and reaching for the pot between them.

Ian noticed the way David slyly looked at his partner, raising his eyebrows suggestively and shooting the now decidedly flustered junior agent a mischievous grin. _What the hell is that about, Sinclair?_

"Got anything from that bar in Wyoming yet?" Ian asked, his agitation at their lack of progress returning despite the consolation offered by his own personal nectar of the gods.

"I talked to an agent from the nearest field office, and he's working on getting the local PD to transfer evidence and get the phone records as soon as possible, but you know how these things are. Could be awhile."

"Gotta love bureaucracy," Colby muttered. Ian snorted in agreement. _Free with his opinions, served in the military, not afraid to mix things up. I like you, Granger._

He couldn't imagine what kind of circumstances it would take to get him to admit that out loud though. Probably the same kind of crazy that would make him admit to believing in the Professor's voodoo. Unlike Granger, he just wasn't a touchy feely kind of guy.

Edgerton refilled his cup again and then made for the door, telling the two other agents that he was going to check over Hoyle's juvenile record from '92 even though he had the damn thing memorized forward and backward. Not that part of him didn't enjoy hanging around with Eppes's team, but he needed to be doing something he could at least pretend was productive.

As the door was shutting behind him, he heard Sinclair ask his partner, "So you finally get your autograph or what?"

Ian didn't have to look to know that Granger had choked on his coffee. And as he kept heading into the office without breaking stride, he finally gave in to the urge he'd been resisting for the last twenty minutes and rolled his eyes, smirking once again.

* * *

Ian had just made it back to his hotel room, after a none too gratifying dinner at a nearby pizza joint, when his cell phone rang.

They had finally gotten the details on the bar robbery in Wyoming, turned up by Charlie's pinpointing of the missing dot. Which, according to what he'd explained to them in yet another voodoo lesson in which he'd been ignominiously compared to Manfred von Richtofen, fell on something called a "pursuit curve" that had spanned half the continental US and was supposed to somehow be able to help them find his killers' next destination.

His gut, however, was telling him that this phone call was going to do that a lot faster. It was a local PD officer, relayed through the FBI switchboards, informing him that they had just been dispatched on a call of a carjacking-turned-homicide, with a body containing a bullet of the same caliber as Hoyle's weapon from the shootout at the diner and the BMW they'd stolen from the scene.

With a glance at the clock, he decided he would check the incident out by himself. Eppes's team was used to keeping normal office hours in most cases. While he was content to go chasing after his prey any time at the drop of a hat, he figured it would be better to let them enjoy their evening until he had a reason to call them in.

When he arrived at the car dealership, he was surprised to see Megan already there, talking with one of the coroner's assistants. She caught his eye and waved him over, introducing him to the stiff formerly known as Pierce Brenner.

Ian noted that she made no explanation for why she was there, but he decided not to question her. He wanted to focus on the case. And, as much as he respected Reeves's skills, he did not want her to take his queries as some sign of territorial aggression about having the local team involved in something he firmly considered to be _his _business. _Psychoanalyze my killers all you want, Reeves, but don't you dare try that crap on me._

Even now, she was reworking her profile of Hoyle and Winters based on the new information from the scene. As they talked, he caught sight of a familiar piece of evidence. The wrapper from one of Buck's beloved burritos. _Wonder how many bad guys would avoid getting caught if they just learned not to litter..._

"They watched from over here," Ian said, looking back toward the windows of the car dealership to gauge how well his killers would have been able to observe Brenner's movements.

"Spree killers act on impulse," Reeves replied with only slight hesitation. "They don't generally stalk their victims."

"You think they targeted this guy?"

"She was here in LA in '92," the profiler offered.

Ian raised his eyebrow as he considered her train of thought. "Awful long time to hold a grudge."

"Bad memories last a long time." From the tone she used, the tracker got the impression that her reasoning came from more than just her psychology textbooks. Not that he was one to judge. _You sure as hell don't have to tell _me_ twice._ "This is the second crime they haven't signed."

"New MO," Ian observed.

"Something's changing."

As Reeves, by far the more social of the two, went to talk with the officers and crime techs processing evidence, Ian stood silently in the center of the scene. His arms crossed over his chest, sharp eyes taking in every detail as they roamed over the area like a raptor searching for prey.

He didn't particularly know what he was searching for, but he knew at this point that Reeves was right; it wasn't a couple of spree killers. _Why did you come here, Crystal? What is it you're after? _He didn't bother reassessing her lover's motives. The thrill Buck derived from the violence he committed was more than obvious.

* * *

Only the higher reasoning that told him he would function better with sleep drove Ian back to his hotel. He didn't even bother to change out of his clothes; just kicked off his shoes, set his gun and phone on the table by the bed, and laid down to rest.

Agent Edgerton had seen far too much to be disturbed by violence. In fact, his desensitization to it had begun long before he joined the Army. For some people, that was just the way life went. No delusions about the darker side of human nature. No shelter from the harsh cruelty of the world.

Even when he was the perpetrator, he rarely had any trouble falling into a restful sleep the minute he closed his eyes. Another habit left over from Afghanistan, where one fell asleep to the sound of RPG strikes and ten minutes of rest could mean the difference between life and death.

But he had never taken an _innocent_ life. At least, not a life that he had known at the time was innocent. _Damn spooks and their faulty intel. And who the hell do they blame? Who has to live with that shit on their conscience?_ He gave a mental snort at the smaller voice in the back of his mind that asked sarcastically, _"What conscience?"_

So as he lay there staring at the ceiling, unable to purge the faces of his killers' victims from his photographic memory or escape the slight sense of responsibility he felt for those crimes, he found himself wondering how Colby Granger had made it this far with so much of his youthful exuberance left intact.

_You think you admire me, Granger? Hell... maybe it should be the other way around. And maybe I shouldn't give Eppes such a hard time for trying to keep his brother out of our world._

As his mind finally began its descent into unconsciousness, Ian's memory stirred faintly at the thought of the Professor.

_"Hello there, Professor. Still figuring the angles?"_

_ "What I'm figuring is the reason why he missed. This shot is way closer than any of the others."_

_ "Well, closer doesn't always mean easier. He ran a higher risk of being seen here."_

_ "That wouldn't affect the shot itself though, would it?" Oh, Professor. You're almost sweet in your innocence._

_ "Forget about the math for a second. Just look. Invisibility is a sniper's greatest strength. He starts to worry about losing it, his heart rate increases. Doesn't know how to handle it, his breathing rhythm gets thrown off."_

_ "Breathing rhythm?" He can't be serious?_

_ "You've really never fired a gun."_

_ "I don't really believe in them." He's serious all right. How exactly should I put this?_

_ "Believe in them? It's not like they're ghosts."_

_ "Obviously that's not what I meant." _

_ "So you don't take into account sweat getting into his eyes? Or his hands cramping up, or adrenaline twitching the barrel?" Damn, why does he look so nervous all of a sudden? "That's the difference between an expert marksman and a guy who aims at white meat and goes home with a wing."_

_ "A woman got shot today. Not some... animal." Ah, so that's it. _

_"I see. So when I regard her as a technical problem, I'm a sick bastard. But when you plug her into an equation, you're a scientist." _

_"Just seems like it's all some kind of sport to you." __Amazing. Eppes must have done a damn good job of keeping his life in the FBI away from his family. Still, it needs to be said._

_ "It's my job to put my head inside the mind of a killer. Your brother's too."_

_What I wouldn't... give right now... to get inside Hoyle's mind..._

* * *

_If you're wondering, that last part is Ian falling asleep. I really wasn't sure where to end this one. At first it was just the coffee part, but I didn't want to break it up so much that every scene is its own chapter. Hopefully this is decent. And if you're wondering, I'm not ignoring Don and Ian's friendship. Just haven't quite gotten to it yet. Patience is a virtue, and not just for snipers._


	3. Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

_So, going back over the episode, I realized that the Pursuit Curve explanation referenced in the last chapter doesn't take place until much later than I thought it did. I'm not bothering to change it though, since it doesn't make any difference to the story. We'll just call it artistic license. And, if anyone was wondering, Manfred von Richtofen was a German WWI ace fighter pilot, more famously known as the Red Baron. I put the reference to him in because his iconic Fokker triplane appears in the footage used for the show (and I'm an aviation nerd)._

_Also, thank you for the lovely reviews. Nice to know people are enjoying this._

* * *

Two days after his arrival in L.A., Agent Edgerton was getting decidedly restless. He didn't often suffer from an itchy trigger finger (_What a horrible quality _that _would be in a sniper_), but sitting and waiting while his fugitives moved further and further ahead of them was taking a toll that even the excellent coffee Eppes made in the morning couldn't quell his need to get back into the field.

Reeves and Edgerton had briefed the rest of the team on their analysis of the latest crime scene, the murder of car salesman Pierce Brenner, on whom she had requested a thorough background check. It would take at least a few more hours to get the initial report, and probably another day or two to get the full details.

Until then, they were stuck with what they knew. The carjacking was consistent with the duo's previous MO; they would switch vehicles every few days to try to throw the authorities off their trail. Still, something about it just didn't fit. Like the fact that they had apparently targeted Brenner for a specific reason.

Ian had invested considerable time in developing his extraordinary proficiency in both of his fields, sniping and hunting, and his greatest skill had always served him well in both. Learning to understand his targets on such a fundamental level that he could predict their actions before they knew they were going to take them.

But even with all his expertise at tracking fugitives, the seemingly random shifts in Winters's and Hoyle's behavior had him so frustrated that he had abandoned his usual cup of coffee in favor of his rifle and gone down to the shooting range to unwind.

Ian always felt most comfortable hugging a rifle to his shoulder, feeling the weight of the barrel in his arms and the cool metal against his hands. His mind calmed as his finger tensed, ever so gently, against the trigger, the miasma of thoughts from his every day concerns giving way to a sense of zen-like clarity.

His sharp eyes focused on the target; his breathing settled into a pattern so familiar it was almost autonomic. His senses shut off all the distractions of the world beyond him and his target, a more intimate relationship than any lover he had ever known, until the only sound he consciously registered was the beat of his own heart, strong and steady, not the slightest tic.

_Thump._

_Thump._

_Thump. Crack!_

The sniper watched through his scope as the bullet impacted on the target, dead center. It didn't offer the challenge a human target would, but it still delivered the catharsis he so needed after the standstill this case had come to. _Woah, what was that, Edgerton? Thinking of your targets as human beings? Not a good sign._

Ian's time in the FBI had slightly thinned the impenetrable layer of ice and steel he kept between his emotions and the surface of his being. His current job was certainly dangerous, and presented no shortage of dark imagery, but it would never compare to the absolutely numbing, dehumanizing effects of warfare. _People think I'm a cold-hearted bastard now? They should've seen me in Afghanistan._ Not that many people there had seen him for who he really was either; they only saw the legend. _Except for- No, don't think about her._

He automatically pulled the bolt to eject the cartridge from the chamber, and then lined up the rifle for another shot. He was just settling back into sniper mode when a familiar voice spoke up from behind him.

"Fifth best shot in the country and you still hang out at the rifle range?"

"Can't let myself get too rusty," Ian replied, turning to face Don Eppes. He regarded the man before him silently for a moment. The warm eyes, the friendly smile, the air of confidence about him. He was definitely a leader, the type of man who was meant to always have people around him, whose psyche depended on having a team, a family. He'd been one of the best in the business when he worked Fugitive Recovery, but Ian could tell that he had suffered for it in some way as well.

Still, the understanding between them was something Edgerton appreciated more than he cared to admit. Most agents gave him a wide berth; they were more than grateful for his assistance in the field, and they respected him for his skills, but they certainly didn't invite him out for a beer or let him crash on their couch after a long day.

Don Eppes was different. He treated Ian the same way he treated anyone else. And even though it sometimes unnerved him, Ian had to acknowledge that he thought of Don as more than a colleague. He smirked at the realization that he felt almost the same way about his brother. _What is it with these Eppes guys? Don acts like I'd make the perfect third musketeer for Sinclair and Granger. And the Professor... that guy is either too stubborn for his own good or has more balls than anyone gives him credit for. Hell, maybe both._

"We got something on Hoyle," Eppes said without further preamble. He smiled when Ian's eyes met his with a spark in them that may as well have screamed: "Finally!" He was not the type to actually voice his excitement, but he was grateful for Eppes's perceptiveness.

Sensing that Eppes hadn't come down here just to chat, the sniper quickly packed up his rifle and the two of them headed for the parking lot and their respective vehicles.

"The phone dump on the bar in Wyoming turned up a call to a number here in L.A.," the other agent continued as they exited the range. "Lydia Campos. Got a rap sheet that goes all the way back to '91."

Ian raised an eyebrow, knowing Eppes would understand his unspoken question.

"Mostly offenses related to drug possession, including a bust for selling cocaine in March of '92. Guess who was picked up with her." Eppes gave him a meaningful look that told Ian they finally had a lead on why Hoyle had come to L.A. "I called the judge for a rush warrant on a wire tap. David's headed over there now to set up, and Colby's standing by for a location. If Crystal tries to contact her again, we'll be ready."

"Nice work, Eppes." A small part of him was wondering why he hadn't been contacted when that information came through, but he was inclined to let it slide, given the circumstances. His concern had always been getting the job done. _Politics and bureaucracy and regulations be damned._

Still, he wondered if Don was having trouble adjusting their professional relationship on this case. In the past, he had always consulted Ian for help when one of his cases could benefit from his input. It was different this time, this was _his_ hunt, and Edgerton felt the need to broach the subject before it caused any problems. "Should have called me in when you got that one, Eppes. I would've liked to be involved with the setup."

To his credit, Don didn't take the subtle admonition personally. "Yeah, you're probably right. It's just... they're my team, ya know?"

"Sure, Eppes. No problem."

* * *

Edgerton apparently wasn't the only agent who was eager to get back into the field. Colby Granger nearly crashed right into Don and Ian as they stepped off the elevator leading into the bullpen.

"Hey," the young agent greeted them breathlessly. "We got a hit! Crystal just called her friend Lydia from a payphone at Washington and Broadway. Should I call SWAT?"

The question was directed at Eppes, but Ian decided to cut in and provide the voice of experience. "I doubt she's still in the area. She isn't stupid enough to lead a chase across half the country and then get busted at a payphone."

He didn't particularly enjoy putting a damper on Granger's enthusiasm - it was a trait Ian secretly admired in him – but it had to be done. _Believe me, Granger. No one's more eager than me to bring this bitch into custody. But this is gonna be a job for the crime techs. SWAT has better things to do._

"You two go check it out. Let me know if you need any backup," Don suggested, a bit more gently. Ian held back a grin. _Ever the leader, Eppes._

Granger nodded at his boss, and then gave Ian a look that was a mix of anticipation at getting a possible break in the case and apprehension at the realization that he would be going into the field with the legendary Ian Edgerton for the first time. _Dammit, Eppes._

As they briskly made their way to the garage, Ian was extremely grateful to see the junior agent's excitement abate as it was replaced by the professionalism he would expect from a former soldier. _Can't have any other shit on your mind going into battle. Tends to get people killed. Or worse._

It was only a few minutes' drive to the payphone location, but Granger was apparently one of those agents who liked to make small talk on the way to a scene. "So, why did _you_ join the FBI?" Granger asked amicably, though Ian could sense that the man was wary of crossing a line with the question. _Okay... I suppose I had that coming._

"Not much else I could do with twelve years of experience as a sniper," Ian answered in a tone that was definitely sardonic, but not at all unfriendly. Colby chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess the job market is pretty thin in that area, huh?" Granger looked over at the older agent in a way that made Ian grateful he was wearing dark-tinted sunglasses. The sniper was laughing too, even if it was only apparent in his eyes. _At least he's more relaxed than he was yesterday._ _I just hope that doesn't mean he's going to start asking for autographs._

"So how does tracking play into it? I mean, obviously you probably spent a lot of time out in the sticks as a sniper, but still." At Ian's inscrutable expression, Colby added, "Not that it's not a great skill set, obviously, but it seems like an odd thing to choose."

This time, Ian did laugh. "I didn't choose it, Colby. It chose me."

Granger smiled. The younger man liked making friends, and he seemed to consider getting the big bad sniper to open up to him, if only the slightest bit, to be quite the accomplishment. Though he still seemed surprised that Ian had answered his questions at all.

It was a common misconception that Ian didn't like to talk; he could, in fact, be quite a charming conversationalist. It just wasn't in his nature to initiate such things. He didn't even necessarily mind when people wanted to get to know him. But it was pretty rare that someone actually tried. Rarer still that they succeeded.

Ian would have to say that, in his entire life, there had only been one person who had truly understood him. He was a little proud that it had taken a mind just as brilliant as the Professor's to do it too. But he was sure it was the pure willfulness, the stubborn refusal to be rebuffed by his brusque demeanor, which really deserved the credit. Ian closed his eyes for a second, willing his mind not to bring forth the hauntingly beautiful memories that those thoughts had stirred.

* * *

_"Still working on those decryptions the Colonel asked for?" Ian wondered how well she would read between the lines. Despite trying his hardest to keep her out of his head, she was far too skilled at understanding people (and far too damn stubborn) to be scared off by the harsh emotional barriers in which he usually kept himself securely wrapped._

_ "No. I finished those this afternoon. I'm just translating some messages intercepted this morning." _Guess that explains the headset on the table. She probably only had to listen to it once, with that eidetic memory of hers. Wonder what language she's working in this time._ "Farsi." _How the hell does she do that?_ "And yes, I'd love to join you for dinner."_

_ In spite of himself, Ian couldn't help but smile at her. He had known the 24-year-old intelligence specialist for months now, and she still always managed to impress him, even if he would never admit it. There were a lot of things he couldn't admit to her. As cliche as it was, he knew he'd started falling for her the moment they'd met. There was something about her, some intangible quality that had made the taciturn sniper feel irresistibly drawn to her._

_ Ian felt a now-familiar warmth spread through him as she returned his smile. She rarely smiled; like him, she was guarded with her emotions. Being on the receiving end of one of her rare expressions of joy stirred something in him that he couldn't quite put a label on. _Relax, Edgerton. She may be a genius, and beautiful, and you always seem to lose yourself in her eyes, and God what you wouldn't give to feel those lips against yours- But she's still your best friend_._

_ "Why do I get the feeling you were waiting for me to show up and ask that?" Ian hoped it was more than just wishful thinking on his part. He couldn't say they had ever been on a date, but he frequently found excuses to spend time with her. That time had done a great deal to keep him grounded through all the horrors he saw - and committed - every day in combat._

_ "Because, contrary to all appearances, you know you're actually quite fun to be around." Ian's heart warmed a little more at that. "And because you're well aware of the ratio of horny men to pretty girls on this base and that all of them are scared to death of you." Ian imagined that she had a great appreciation for gallows humor even before she became a soldier. He knew that making light of the very serious experiences she'd had in that area was what prevented her from giving in to the anxiety and paranoia that came with being threatened by the people she was supposed to be able to count on._

_Ian chuckled softly. "I always knew you were just using me."_

_ "Not that you mind it." _

_ "You know me so well."_

_ "And that may well be the most terrifying thing the Great Master Sergeant Ian Edgerton has ever faced." _You have no idea. Who the hell am I kidding? Of course she does. She probably knew before I did. I'd love to know what kind of damn voodoo she uses to read people like books. Especially people like me.

_ "I'm glad you're on our side, that's for sure." If there was anything the sniper legend Ian Edgerton loved hearing more than the sound of his rifle, it was the sound of her laugh._

* * *

"Ian?" Granger's soft voice pulled him back to the present. _Just in time, too. _"You okay, man?"

"Yeah," Ian replied, forcing his mind to focus on the case, as he turned onto a side street leading into the lot. "I get lost in my thoughts sometimes."

Colby gave a small nod of understanding as Ian pulled to a stop in front of the payphone Hoyle had used to contact Lydia Campos. As he had predicted, the killers were nowhere in sight. The two agents climbed out of the vehicle and checked the phone, still hanging off the receiver, before moving to the Porsche parked a few feet away.

"Blood on the bumper," Colby noted. _Body in the trunk. There's a shock._

Ian felt a small sense of satisfaction as he smashed through the driver side window to unlock the doors. There was nothing quite like breaking something to release pent up frustrations, except perhaps a good practice session with his guns.

"Two cars, two dead bodies. No robbery, no poem." Ian's agitation was quickly returning with the realization that this lead had brought them no closer to finding Hoyle and Winters, instead only further throwing into doubt his understanding of their actions. "Reeves is right. Something's changing."

As Granger called in the description of the couple's new vehicle, Ian's eyes once again drifted across the scene, looking for answers he could scarcely hope to find.

_I wish you were here to help me with this one. Even the Professor's crazy math voodoo doesn't hold a candle to your creepy mind reading voodoo._

* * *

_Don't worry. This isn't going to turn into a love story. But I thought it would be good to show a little bit of Ian's past relationships (in terms of friendship and romance) to better flesh out his character and show that he has a softer side. Even if the whole Emotionally Distant Badass Falling for a Pretty Girl thing is a bit cliche. _

**_Edit: I was hoping to avoid 3rd person flashbacks, because showing Ian's thoughts is a pain with the italics. Just doesn't look right. But since I ended up doing it anyway, I wanted to rework this so it fits better and gives more background._**


	4. Changing Currents

_A/N: Slightly longer chapter here. This is where Charlie's lecture on pursuit curves is in the episode, but this works just as well. _

* * *

_"Changing" may be an understatement, Reeves. What the hell kind of To-Do List is going through this woman's mind?_ _"Shoot my underage boyfriend's dad; rob a couple liquor stores; steal some cars; flee across the country; kill a salesman; blow up a meth lab."_

Ian had seen felons do a lot of crazy things over the years, and while other agents may chalk the ludicrous crimes and pointless killings up to pure insanity, he generally believed that even the most irrational actions made some twisted sort of sense to the person committing them. And it was his job to determine precisely what that logic was, because understanding the inner workings of his prey's mind was integral to the hunt.

That, he knew, was the difference between him and Reeves. She used textbook psychological profiling to explain why a criminal did what he did. But to Ian, it was more of a sixth sense he had developed over the years, and it was something very deeply interconnected with his pursuit tactics.

Unlike the Professor, Agent Edgerton put a lot of trust in his instincts. He might even call it faith, in lieu of any similar confidence in a higher power. He mentally smirked. He would never actually bring it up to the mathematician, but when the other man got just a little too overconfident in the power of his numbers, the agent was sometimes tempted to point out that Charlie Eppes owed his life to Ian Edgerton's instincts. _Your calculations were pretty close to finding that sniper's position, Professor. But my bullet was a hell of a lot closer._

Right now, standing in the doorway of the burnt out meth lab, Ian's instincts were telling him that Crystal Hoyle may be one of the most dangerous fugitives he had ever tracked. _And that's saying something._ She and Winters, who he was almost certain was simply along for the ride, seemed to have no discernible plan of action.

Their victims had switched from random to targeted and back again. They had moved on from convenience store robberies to blowing up meth labs. And Ian, frustratingly, had very little upon which he could base a supposition of their motives. Even his razor sharp, finely honed instincts were leaving him in the dark on this case.

Edgerton subtly took a few deep breaths, releasing some of the heightened tension he could feel building up in his muscles. Decades in the military and the FBI had made the calm front he always wore an automatic feature, needing absolutely no direction from his mind to be erected. But Ian was well aware that underneath that, and the sturdy barriers surrounding his deeper emotions, he had a hell of a temper. He made sure - for the sake of Eppes, his team, and the crime scene techs wandering around collecting evidence - that it was tightly reigned in before he moved away from the door frame.

A few steps inside the doorway, the edge of a boot print caught his eye. He crouched and lifted up the singed piece of wood on top of it to get a better view. He automatically catalogued the features of the print - size, tread quality, pattern of the sole – and allowed his photographic memory to match it up to other mental images of identical prints. _For a math geek and a sniper, it's scary how alike the Professor and I are in some respects. _He was just about to call Eppes over when Reeves came in behind him.

"Witnesses saw a male white and female white leave the scene in a Trans Am," she reported.

"Size nine work boots. See the star-shaped scuff on the in-sole? Buck picked that up between Kansas and Missouri," Ian added, in confirmation of what the team already knew. This was the work of his spree killers, which seemed more like a misnomer with every new crime.

Ian rose to follow Reeves as she continued to talk, glancing quickly around the ash-covered room for any more important clues.

"You know," she began, "Meth labs like to use users as workers, cause they can pay them in product."

"Lydia Campos?" Ian asked, easily latching onto her train of thought. "You figure she worked here, gave em the setup?"

"Right?" Eppes chimed in. "I mean they gotta have fifty to a hundred G's in cash around here. Double that in product."

Ian saw where they were coming from, and had to agree since they were following the evidence, but he also felt compelled to point out the discontinuity between Eppes's logic and his knowledge of his killers. _For whatever the hell _that's _worth nowadays._ "It's never been about the money before."

"Yeah, but drugs are what got Crystal arrested and sent back home. Maybe this was symbolic, or... retributive." _Profilers..._

"Or," Eppes yelled from the small crawl space he had stuck his head into, in a tone that told Ian he was definitely not going to like whatever he was about to say. "It's all about grenades. Hey, I got a whole cache of weapons up here, guys!"

Ian moved next to the step ladder Eppes was standing on and took a peak up into the section of space lit by the other agent's flashlight. He could discern several boxes containing various handguns and a few cases of ammunition before Don motioned for him to grab a crate he was handing down to him.

There were two very concerning features about this crate. The first was the lettering on the side that read: U.S. ARMY FRAGMENTATION GRENADES. The second was the fact that it was completely empty. _Hell..._

"Been awhile since I've seen one of these," Ian remarked, his dry wit emerging to cover the tinge of apprehension he felt about this shift in Hoyle's threat level. "Somehow, I get the feeling they weren't just using the empty box for storing canned goods."

"I need to report this," Eppes said, stalking out of the room. Megan looked a little perturbed at his sharp tone, but Ian understood perfectly well. It was easier for Eppes to show that he was pissed at the demanding turn the case had taken than it was for him to admit to his fear of all the damage Hoyle and Winters could do with a duffel full of contraband Army munitions.

Ian followed Eppes outside, where he'd found a quiet spot at the edge of the street to make his phone call to the Assistant Director. He could tell from his body language that the call was not going well. _You can take that one, Eppes. Never liked reporting in to the higher ups. That's one nice thing about working on your own out in the wilderness._ He waited for the other agent to finish his call before moving into Eppes's field of vision and quirking a brow in question.

Eppes ran a hand through his hair before answering, which Ian knew was a sign of his mounting stress. It was a habit the two of them shared. "He's gonna call in to D.C. to report the stolen weapons. That much firepower, who knows what the hell we could be looking at here? We need to find those grenades. Now."

Ian snorted. "You won't get any disagreements from me, Eppes. But they aren't exactly leaving us a map to their location. As much as your brother might argue otherwise." That got a small smile out of Don, but it faded almost instantly as he settled back into business mode.

"We pretty much agree at this point that they do have a plan though, right? I mean, if they just wanted to blow up a meth lab... I hate to admit it, but there are plenty in L.A. I think you and Megan are right about Lydia Campos giving them the setup, and about Pierce Brenner being somehow connected."

"Reeves thinks Hoyle might be on some kind of revenge kick," Ian told Don. "The meth lab hit does seem to fit into that. Why now, though? Fifteen years is a long time to wait to go on a killing rampage." Ian's brow quirked again. _Especially with her complete lack of criminal history between then and now._

Don thought it over for a minute, and seemed to come to the conclusion that their hypothesizing, while helpful in confirming that they were still on the same page, was doing little to help them find Edgerton's killers. "Let's get back to the office. See if anything new has come up."

"What are Granger and Sinclair up to anyway?" Ian asked, hoping it was something useful. The other agent looked off to the side for a moment, and didn't reply. "Don?"

"Uhhh..." _Oh hell, Eppes. Maybe he's not always such a great leader after all._

* * *

It had been a slow morning. Reports from the meth lab were still coming in, but so far there didn't appear to be anything particularly useful. Forensic science could tell you the who, what, where, when, and how of a crime, but figuring out where a perpetrator would go next? There was no test or machine or method for that. _Unless you include the Professor's wacky algorithms._

Ian nearly lost it when he made it to the break room, craving his fourth cup of coffee for the day, and once again found the pot empty. And the cupboards empty. _God damn it. Of all the god damn times to run out of coffee..._

"Try not to hurt yourself there, bud. I already put in a requisition for more."

"Better get it quick, Eppes," Ian mumbled irritably. "How the hell does a federal office run out of coffee anyway?"

"Well, we usually restock once a week. But _someone_ has been hanging around the last few days drinking it all."

Ian shot the man a look so deadly that he backpedaled and put his hands up to ward off whatever manic onslaught the caffeine-deprived sniper might throw at him. Edgerton sighed. Eppes laughed.

"So Charlie suggested I invite you to dinner at his place tonight. He has plans, so he won't actually be there, but my dad's in one of his Cook-a-Feast-for-Whoever's-Around-to-Eat-It moods." Ian shot him a bewildered look. _Did Eppes just ask me to a family dinner or am I actually going insane from lack of coffee?_ "He figured you probably don't get many home cooked meals. And my dad's been wanting to meet the infamous Agent Ian Edgerton for awhile now."

Ian couldn't help but chuckle, which, combined with the fact that he was actually considering Eppes's offer, he took as a sign that he was indeed losing it. "Infamous, huh?"

Don smiled. "So? You in or what?"

Ian really had no personal experience with close family relationships. The type of bond the Eppes family obviously shared was so... foreign... to him. He knew he could never be comfortable in that setting, but part of him was also curious.

He had heard a great deal about Alan Eppes and their family home from Don, Charlie, and David. It seemed very warm and inviting, and it didn't take much to imagine the pleasant environment the Eppes brothers must have come from to have turned out the way they did. _Not really my usual thing, but what the hell? The Professor has a good point; I'm always up for a good meal. Especially when I don't have to catch it myself._

"Sure, Eppes. Why not?" Ian gave him a genuinely grateful smile. It may seem odd to him that the two treated him like just another pal, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate it. _However..._ "On one condition though."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"Get me some damn coffee."

* * *

Edgerton, now happily satisfied with the cup of steaming coffee in his hands, sat in the team's briefing room with Reeves and Eppes. They had tapped in to the surveillance devices trained on Lydia Campos, who'd had no contact with anyone in the hours since the hit at the meth lab. He was still itching to get back into the hunt, but at least the caffeine was curbing his frustrations, if only slightly.

Without appearing to do so, he was watching the interaction between Reeves and Eppes. At first, Ian had wondered if there was something going on there. But he saw no evidence of that between the two senior agents on the team. He knew Eppes was used to being the Big Brother and figured he probably felt that way about his entire team, not just Charlie.

Once in a while, Reeves would look over at him with mild curiosity, most likely wondering whether he was silently fuming at their lack of progress or was simply an unusually quiet person. Unlike Eppes, she treated him the way most people did: kept her distance, with a wariness that told him she had no idea what to make of him. _Makes sense I suppose. People fear what they can't understand. All the standard profiling techniques go out the window with someone like me._ It didn't bother him one bit that she didn't try to be his friend. As long as it didn't affect their ability to work together.

A low-pitched ringing from the speaker drew the attention of the three agents. Ian felt his pulse quicken, ever so slightly, when he heard Hoyle's voice on the other end of the line. There truly was nothing quite like the relationship between a hunter and his prey.

His interest was piqued at Hoyle's mention of a bag she had left for her friend. _Probably money. Or drugs. Payment for her assistance in whatever the hell Hoyle and Winters are up to._

"The mailbox she's talking about is visible from the front door," David's voice piped in. "We go for it, she's gonna see us."

Ian caught the determined look in Don's eyes, and realized he was about to make a decision they might all regret. "She's still our best lead," Ian reminded him. And then added, more firmly, "We've gotta let her run."

A flash of disbelief shone in Reeves's eyes. "Yeah, and what if the bag that Crystal just left her is full of hand grenades?" _Why the hell would she leave her a-_

"I agree. I don't think we can risk it," Don added.

"Risk?! You wanna talk about 'risk,' what about letting these two run loose for even one more day?"

"Ian, there's no decision here. David, take it. Take the bag!"

Ian felt his temper rising closer to the surface, but he had enough experience to know that now was not the time to question Eppes. The decision had been made, and Ian would respect that. No matter how passionately he disagreed with it. He took a large gulp of his coffee. It wasn't as satisfying as it had been a few moments before, but it helped him temper the anger bubbling deep inside him. _What the hell is it with this case, getting to me like this?_

After a moment, David's voice floated from the speaker. "We've got her, Don. Colby's bringing her in now."

"What did Crystal leave her?" Don asked sternly.

"Looks like about ten thousand in cash," David replied after rifling through the bag. "And a few kilos of meth. No weapons."

Ian snorted quietly, but said nothing as Don gave David instructions to search Campos's apartment and then bring in the evidence. As he ended the call, he motioned for Ian to follow him into one of the adjoining conference rooms. _Here we go..._

Once they were alone in the room, Don took a seat and suggested Ian do the same. The sniper silently declined, instead leaning over the top of the chair across from Eppes.

"Look, Ian, I understand you're technically the agent in charge of the spree killer case-"

"_Technically_, Eppes?"

"But," Don continued over Ian's snort, "As soon as they hit this city they became my jurisdiction. And, for better or worse, my problem. I appreciate your position. I do. But I can't let someone else make decisions for my team."

"I know it's hard to accept, Eppes, but your guys can do their jobs without you looking over their shoulders." Ian paused, taking a small, silent breath to expel the trace of anger from his tone. "And so can I."

Don decided to ignore that, instead reiterating the justification for his decision. "We have no idea what Hoyle and Winters are planning to do with those weapons they stole. I can't take the risk of them-"

"And I say again. If you want to talk about risks, what about letting a couple of dangerous killers run loose in this city? If you're so concerned about what they're going to do with those grenades, I would think you'd want to bring them into custody as soon as possible!"

"Of course that's what I want, Ian. That's always what we want." Don leaned forward in his chair, running his hands through his hair and then over his face. "Look, I made a call. I still think it was the right one. We'll just have to go with what we've got. Maybe Megan'll get something from Campos that we can use."

"Yeah, maybe then this case will start making some damn sense," Ian said in more agreeable tone. For now, their argument seemed to be settled. Or at least set aside.

_This is why I hate calling in favors._

* * *

_David: "You ever get the feeling everyone's forgotten about us?" Colby: "I get that feelin a lot." Don really did forget about you in my version. Sorry, boys. And (spoilers) Don's insistence on making the decisions kind of came up on its own as something that's going to come back to bite him in the ass in Two Daughters, but I remember now that he discusses that issue quite heavily with his shrink a few episodes later. So I guess that was either unconsciously in my mind from the episode or just a good call on my part._


	5. Laughing Like Children

_Another longer one. Be warned, there is some sappy male bonding in this chapter. A lot of it actually, if you include Don and Ian. It also shifts slightly into Don's POV for a paragraph or two. You'll see where. Don't let that confuse you; I just couldn't get the point I needed across any other way. If anyone has any suggestions to fix that, I'd be welcome to them._

* * *

_Finally._

After days of coming up empty handed, Eppes and his team had found a solid lead on Crystal Hoyle's motives. Once Megan's interrogation of Lydia Campos had revealed Hoyle's apparent desire to locate ex-boyfriend and criminal Renaissance man Billy Rivers – and the background check into Pierce Brenner had identified him as another ex-boyfriend – the team had unanimously agreed that Hoyle was, as Reeves had put it, chasing an adolescent fantasy.

Finally, Ian had something that he could use to predict his targets' actions. Acting on that information, however, was going to be difficult at best with their current level of intel. So, once again throwing his standard procedure (and his pride) to the wind, Ian had pulled Don aside and asked him to take him to see his brother.

Don still seemed a bit uncomfortable after their confrontation earlier that day. Not that Ian could blame him. Though he still believed that his decision, with the information they'd had at the time, had been the more reasonable in regard to catching his killers, what was done was done. Ian rarely second-guessed his actions; it wasn't a healthy trait in this line of work. And he didn't think Eppes was the type to do so either. Now they were in the car together on their way to CalSci, and Ian felt the need to more permanently lay the issue to rest.

"Don, you know neither of us is really the type to talk about our feelings." That earned him a small smile and a soft chuckle of agreement. "But in case I've never made it clear, I want you to know that I respect you as an agent. And that's not something I would say about a lot of people."

Ian half expected to be taunted about getting soft, but the other agent wisely took the olive branch and ran with it. The subtle, unspoken understanding between them was, it seemed, still fully intact.

"Thanks, Ian. You're a hell of an agent too, ya know. And I don't just mean as a sniper. Or a tracker. Whatever you've seen, whatever you've... done. I think you've got a good head on your shoulders, and great instincts to match."

There were several implications in those few sentences that were left unspoken, but Ian didn't comment on them. He knew his reputation in the FBI wasn't all good; "infamous" was a rather accurate term, if he was honest. And he also knew that he had earned it.

"I meant what I said earlier," Don continued. "About the position you're in. I know I've been there. Had to deal with agents who just couldn't see past their own office. Hell, maybe I've been out of the game too long and I'm getting to be one of them."

"Nah. You're just used to looking out for your team. Nothin' wrong with that."

"Well, as far as I'm concerned, you're not only a part of that team. You're a friend. And that's not something _I_ would say about a lot of people."

Ian looked at him, a mixture of surprise and understanding in his deep brown eyes. "I guess I can live with that, Eppes. As long as you don't start thinking you can give me orders."

Don laughed at that, and Ian smiled. "You still coming to dinner tonight?"

"Wouldn't miss it, Eppes. Man's gotta eat, after all."

* * *

Don parked the car in the visitors lot, about a five minute walk from the building where Charlie's office was located. As they made the trip, Ian thought over their conversation in the car. _Friend, huh? Not sure what to make of that one._

Even as far back as the L.A. Sniper case, Edgerton had recognized something rare in Special Agent Don Eppes that had fascinated him almost as much as his brother's voodoo. If he had to localize it, he would say it was Don's spirit. He was too closed off to admit it, but Ian could sense that Don shared at least some of his brother's idealism. Not in the same form; not in the naively innocent way that Charlie had of looking at the world. But it was there nonetheless.

_Wonder how much longer that'll last... _Ian chided his inner cynic for the thought. Both because he didn't want to think about Eppes being forced to compromise himself in that way, and because he didn't want to remember a certain time when he had. _Nothing could have saved her._ He shook his head, ever so slightly, to ward off those thoughts. Now was not the time for self-recrimination. They had killers to catch.

As the two agents approached the door to Charlie's office, Ian braced himself for what he might see this time. _Wonder what kind of experiments they're doing today..._ Don reached for the handle, swinging the door open when he realized it was unlocked. And then, once again, the two of them stood in shock at what they found.

Thankfully, the Professor didn't appear to be in any immediate danger this time. Though Ian wasn't sure the mental image he was going to be stuck with was any better than the previous one. Charlie was sitting on the edge of his desk, arms wrapped around a young dark-haired woman, attempting what appeared to be a very awkward kiss. Ian smirked. _Oh... _that _kind._

When he saw that Eppes was just standing there in horror-stricken fascination, Ian took it upon himself to clear his throat. The couple jumped apart, and Ian watched the Professor's eyes as they took in first his amused grin and then his brother's embarrassed gaze. He grinned a little more when Charlie's face turned the most lovely shade of crimson.

"Don!" Charlie yelped. "Uh, I didn't expect you to be stopping by so soon."

"Uh, don't worry about it, Chuck," Don replied, reverting to the nickname to hide his discomfort. "We got a break on the spree killer case. We were hoping you could..."

"Oh. Oh, yeah. Sure." He turned to the woman, who wisely took the hint and gave Charlie a brief goodbye and a squeeze on the hand before leaving the three of them alone. _Definitely a recent development._

"Sorry," Charlie offered, still a bit flustered. "You said you had something?"

"We think Crystal's on some kind of payback kick," Don told his brother. "Living out a fantasy by erasing her mistakes."

"One of those mistakes," Ian continued, "is a guy she hooked up with. Billy Rivers."

"She already killed one ex-boyfriend, Pierce Brenner, and now she's looking for Rivers to finish the job."

"Okay," Charlie said slowly.

"Problem is," Ian said, "we can't find him."

"I mean, we've been through his known associates, his past hangouts. The guy's hiding. Ya know."

"And Hoyle and Winters are out there looking for him," Ian added quietly.

"So what do you think about, you know, like adjusting the pursuit curve for that?"

"Uh, for Hoyle chasing Rivers?"

"If we could find him fast, he'd be good bait," Ian explained.

The Professor considered that for a moment, consulting the equations he had scribbled on the board behind him. "You know, I've been running expressions assuming a dog chasing a cat. But it's actually more like a dog chasing a cat chasing a mouse."

Ian gave him an exasperated look. "I thought it was an airplane."

"Oh, dogs and cats work better now." _Great, as if it's not enough of a pain in the ass to keep track of one analogy._ "The cat has two sets of points affecting it now. The way she adjusts her angle of pursuit to overtake the mouse, and the strategy she employs to evade the dog. Obviously the dog's optimal strategy is to head for the mouse, and let the cat come to him."

"Then we don't have to know his location, right? Just where Hoyle's gonna be looking for him."

"Exactly," the Professor said excitedly as he turned to his chalkboard. "So if we adjust and weight values for Rivers's previous known locations - so old addresses and sites of arrest and such, eliminating places we know Hoyle has already searched, while using them to infer her decision patterns..." The Professor's explanation trailed off as he lost himself in his calculations.

Ian watched him with a sardonic smile. "Voodoo."

Don and Ian stepped aside to let the Professor work, conferring quietly to come up with a plan of attack for when Charlie got them a location. Another ten minutes passed, in absolute silence except for the slight clacking of chalk, before he informed the agents that these calculations were likely to take several hours and they shouldn't bother sticking around. _Don't like an audience, eh, Professor?_

As they prepared to leave, Ian couldn't resist sneaking up behind the enthralled mathematician with a rueful grin. The smaller man jumped as the sniper leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Word of advice, Professor. Next time, less tongue." Ian didn't wait for a reaction, just turned and strode out of the office with Charlie staring after him, face bright red and expression mortified.

* * *

The Eppes family's Craftsman home was almost exactly as Ian had pictured. From the outside, he could see that it was homey and well-kept. Even to Edgerton, who felt like he was about to step into the Twilight Zone, it had a certain appeal that made it very inviting.

"Guess Colby and David made it," Don said, noting the other car in the driveway. "I think Megan had plans with Larry."

"Fleinhardt?" Ian asked curiously. Don seemed surprised that his tone lacked any of the shock or instant condemnation he was sure that revelation normally elicited. _Whatever floats your boat, Reeves. I'm not one to judge._

"Yeah. Weird, huh?"

"Unexpected maybe. But I assume they have their reasons." Ian paused for a moment, smiling. "Someone once told me that when love is real, it will find a way."

"You think that's true?"

"It was true for us," Ian said softly, almost wistfully, in a voice so full of raw emotion that Don wouldn't have believed it had come from Edgerton if he hadn't been looking at the man. Ian looked away, glancing around the exterior of the house, and tried to ignore the deep ache that had settled in his chest.

Don gave him a puzzled look, finding the idea of the quiet, stoic sniper falling in love to be even weirder than Larry and Megan. But since Ian didn't seem intent on elaborating, he let the subject drop.

Eppes led Ian into the front room of his family home, where they found Colby and David sitting on the couch watching a hockey game, beer bottles in hand, arguing over a play made by one of the teams. When they saw Don enter, followed by Edgerton, they stood to greet them.

"Hey, boss," Colby greeted Don. "Thanks again for inviting us. David was gonna make us get take out. _Again_."

David smiled as Don clapped Colby on the shoulder. "No problem. Been awhile since we had a guys' night, huh?" Ian stood a step behind Don, arms crossed over his chest to discourage anyone from physical attempts at male bonding. David had once pulled him in for a one-armed "bro hug" after a handshake, and Ian had avoided that particular gesture ever since.

Granger was either very oblivious or very determined, because he didn't even hesitate to come over and slap the sniper on the back. "Hey, Ian. Glad you could make it." _And this is the same guy who was fidgeting just being in a room with me a few days ago. Now I know I've spent too much time with these people._

"Well, I heard the Eppes family had a somewhat negative image of me. Figured I'd show up and confirm how true it is." The three agents laughed heartily, not at all put off by Ian's dry and self-deprecating humor.

Eppes, still chuckling, beckoned for Ian to follow him into the kitchen. "Dad," he said to the older man chopping vegetables at the counter, "This is Agent Ian Edgerton." This time, as a sign of respect, Ian didn't hesitate to offer his hand immediately. The old man took it in a firm, friendly grip. His face was kind, but Ian noticed the tight smile and the slight wariness in his eyes as he greeted him.

"Thank you for inviting me, Mr. Eppes." Ian's soft voice was not only polite, but genuinely grateful. He may be rough around the edges, but he could also be a gentleman. And he had no wish to alienate Don and Charlie's father any more than his job and his reputation already had.

"My pleasure," he answered quickly. "It's nice to finally put a face to the name. The boys love to talk about you." Ian raised an eyebrow. He wasn't prone to embarrassment, but that particular revelation caught him so off guard that he was completely at a loss for what to say. He heard Don whisper a warning to his father, which the old man cheerfully ignored. "Besides, I'm told I owe you my thanks."

Ian looked at Don, but the other agent seemed just as confused as he was. "For what, Dad?"

"I'm not really sure. But I recall your old partner telling me something about Agent Edgerton being very helpful on that first case you worked together."

"Wait," Don said worriedly. "You mean Terry? The L.A. Sniper case?"

"Of course Terry. Who else would I mean?" The old man calmly returned to his cooking, unaware of the gravity of what he had just told them.

Ian and Don exchanged a long look. He knew that Don had always been deeply concerned not only for his brother's safety, but also about having his father worry over them. He'd heard him order his team and Charlie not to give their father details about something Don had allowed his brother to be involved in, and Ian guessed that nearly having their Sniper Zero blow Charlie's head off fell under "Things Not to Tell Dad."

"Well," Ian said. "Whatever help I've given your sons, Mr. Eppes, Don and his team have more than repaid me for on this case." Don gave him another surprised, but very appreciative, look. _Yeah, Eppes. Believe it or not, I can be quite tactful when the situation calls for it._

"How long until dinner's ready, Dad?" As he asked, Don moved over to the fridge and pulled out two beers, handing one to Ian.

"Oh, should be another twenty minutes or so." Ian grimaced slightly. He may have played it off well, but Mr. Eppes made him uneasy. Despite his warm welcome and choice of company for the evening, Ian got the impression that the man was not completely comfortable with having armed federal agents hanging out in his peaceful family home. _Maybe I'm just overanalyzing things because I expect to feel out of place._

They returned to the living room to find the other two agents still watching the hockey game. Eppes plopped down in the chair across from David, which left Edgerton with the choice of standing or taking the empty seat next to Granger on the couch. _I wonder if he does that on purpose._

He chose to sit, taking large sips from his beer and hoping that the game would distract the others. For all appearances, he seemed pretty relaxed; he was leaned back against the cushions, legs spread, free hand resting on his thigh.

But a trained observer would be able to tell that Agent Ian Edgerton was never relaxed. He sat with his back straight, face blank, beer held in his left hand so his right was free to grab his gun if the need should arise. His eyes darted over to Granger, and he noticed the other former soldier's posture was pretty rigid despite his casual attitude. _Old habits die hard. Especially when you've relied on them to keep you alive in combat._

When he looked at Eppes, Ian could see the evidence of his fatigue. He had slumped down further into his chair, putting his feet up on the table. The hand resting behind his head would occasionally comb through his short brown hair. His comments on the game, unlike David's and Colby's, were brief and seemed to take a lot of effort from him. Apparently Sinclair noticed this as well.

"Tough case, huh, Don?" David asked gently. Colby looked over as well.

"Tch, yeah. These spree killers, or whatever the hell you wanna call them... I don't know. Something about them just gets under your skin."

Ian snorted and raised his eyebrows in agreement. _Nice to know it's not just me._

"We'll get em, Don," Colby reassured him. "As soon as Charlie finishes his hot zone, hot pocket algorithm thing." Don and David smiled and shook their heads at their friend's choice of words.

"Is that like the soap bubble tree algorithm thing?" Ian deadpanned. David and Colby grinned at him, while Don burst out laughing.

"You really liked that one, huh?" Eppes asked, amused.

Ian smirked. "We found McHugh, didn't we? Him and his damn voodoo."

"It's not 'voodoo,' Ian," Don lectured in mock seriousness, sounding eerily like his brother. "It's a graphing algorithm based on the seven bridges of Königsberg."

"Where the hell is Königsberg?" Colby asked.

"Pre-World War I Prussia."

"Yeah, Colby. Everyone knows that!" Colby shot his partner a look that made them all laugh even harder. Even Edgerton was smiling with them.

"I hope you boys aren't making fun of my son," Mr. Eppes said sternly, having made his way in from the kitchen and overheard the last bit of their conversation.

"Only because we all love him, Dad."

"Especially Ian," David joked.

Without missing a beat, the sniper quirked a brow and said, "He does make for a rather interesting dinner date."

Don and David, knowing he had taken Charlie out to dinner after catching McHugh, chortled at his joke while Colby choked on the healthy swig of beer he had just taken. He coughed lightly and his eyes watered. Ian, apparently in an unusually humorous mood tonight, reached over and patted him on the back.

"There, there, Granger," the sniper said. "No need to be jealous." Mr. Eppes rolled his eyes and smiled as the rest of them, Ian included, bellowed with laughter. Edgerton couldn't remember the last time he had truly laughed. He rarely allowed himself emotional outbursts of any kind, particularly in front of others. But sitting in Eppes's living room, sharing a beer and watching the game with the guys, he found that it didn't bother him one bit.

_There must be something about this house. Some other kind of voodoo that makes everyone who comes in here feel like family._

* * *

_Poor Colby. This must be how the jokes begin about him and Ian. I do reference a lot of later episodes in this fic, especially the season six episode Ultimatum. Because it's my favorite episode in the series. The fact that it's the only one that really focuses on Edgerton as a character probably has something to do with that._


	6. Living Like Lovers

_Thanks for the reviews. Keep em coming! This chapter goes to the end of Spree, and the next one will start a little before the very beginning of Two Daughters. The conflict between Don and Ian isn't quite over yet; they will both discover some things about each other and themselves, and Ian's tragic past plays a part in that._

_Speaking of which, I have gone back and reworked the first flashback Ian has of his mysterious lover (in the third chapter). If you don't want to re-read that part, there is an explanation of the added info at the bottom of this chapter._

* * *

Agent Edgerton lovingly removed his second-favorite rifle from its case, holding it in his arms like a mother with a newborn baby, and inspected the weapon to make sure it was in proper working order. Not that the sniper didn't care for all of his weapons meticulously. He'd been accused of doting on them many times, in fact. _A good soldier always respects his equipment._

This particular weapon was a mid-range sniper rifle affixed with a state of the art night vision scope, which made it the perfect choice for tonight's stake out. After triple checking the status of the weapon, he laid it carefully on the hotel bed and headed into the bathroom to finish getting dressed.

As he grabbed his black turtleneck off the counter, Ian looked himself over in the mirror. He'd noticed more than a few women giving him appraising looks since he'd joined the FBI. Before then he'd been in the Army since he was seventeen, and admittedly had had little opportunity for contact with the opposite sex.

_Well... that's not entirely true. Dammit, stop!_ Ian usually thought of her more often than he probably should, but for some reason those memories had been haunting him excessively the last few days.

He had been surprised at how readily he had made that admission to Eppes earlier that night. _"It was true for us."_ It was quite possibly the first time he had ever spoken of their relationship out loud. To anyone. To most people, talking about someone they had lost was therapeutic; it helped them heal.

But Ian didn't want to heal. He didn't want to feel the joy that had long ago been buried by grief at the thought of her. Of them. He had loved her, more than life itself. And after nearly ten years, it still hurt like hell.

Lost in his painful thoughts, Ian's fingers unconsciously rose to brush lightly against the pale scar on the left side of his ribcage. It had only been a graze; he'd been lucky. A hell of a lot luckier than most of the men who'd fallen victim to that ambush. A hell of a lot luckier than she would have been if he hadn't tackled her to the ground when he saw the bastard who'd somehow flanked them preparing to unload his magazine right into her back.

He felt a sharp jolt of pain as his mind was assaulted by the memories of her tending to the injury after they'd gotten back to base.

* * *

_He refused to go to the hospital; he was the type to hide away and lick his wounds. She found him in his bunk, holding a blood-soaked rag to his side, and smirked at him as she shook her head. _

_ She didn't say a word as she went over to him, stubbornly moving his hand away to get a look at the wound. She helped him sit up, pulled his shirt slowly over his head, and then laid him carefully on his right side. He failed to bite back the soft moan when she placed a comforting hand on his back and dabbed a cold cloth at the bloody tear; though he had never decided whether it was from the pain of the injury or the pleasure of her touch against his skin. He remembered thinking that she had incredibly soft hands considering what they did for a living._

_ When she finished her ministrations, he rolled over onto his back to rest his head against the pillow, if you could call it that. Army bunks were more comfortable than the rocky desert ground he often found himself sleeping on, but not by much. His heart probably skipped about a dozen beats when she came back to sit on the edge of his bed, laying one hand flat on his bare chest and running the other through his short-cropped black hair._

_ He swallowed thickly as her eyes locked with his. They were a deep sapphire blue, with a brilliance that matched her gifted mind. But what Ian found most hypnotizing was the perpetual calmness in them. No matter what demeaning remark someone threw at her, no matter how dire the situation they were in, nothing ever seemed to rattle her. _

_ If she were a man, he'd say she had balls of steel. Still, he knew she had seen a lot. Hell, probably as much as he had in one way or another. And that was reflected in her gaze too; he'd long ago decided that the most fitting analogy for her eyes would be the tranquil center of an ocean storm._

_ Her voice was unnaturally calm too, one of many traits they shared. "You could have been killed."_

_ "You _would_ have been killed."_

_ "Ian," she whispered, making his heart ache for her. He didn't know how he was holding himself back from pulling her into his arms. "It's not your job to protect me."_

_ "I would have done the same for anyone." It was an honest statement, but he couldn't quite call it the truth. If any other fellow soldier had been in the line of fire, his actions would have been the same. But his motivations wouldn't have been. And he could see in her eyes that she knew it. She probably knew everything he had never told her. Damn mind-reading voodoo._

_ "I know I don't have to lecture you about not letting... personal attachments... affect your judgment. If it ever comes down to it, don't you dare hesitate to do whatever needs to be done. Understood?"_

_ He smirked. "Yes, Ma'am."_

_ She stared him down for a full minute, and then laughed, that rare and beautiful laugh of hers, and his smirk turned into a genuine smile. The two of them were so much alike in so many ways. Neither of them was the type to open up to others. Which was convenient since so few people ever tried to get them to, with him being a sniper and her being a spook. But with each other, it seemed, they had each found a kindred spirit. And every time she smiled at him, Ian could feel her presence filling a void in his heart that he had never known was there._

* * *

That void was now agonizingly empty. Ian knew that in losing her, he had forever lost a piece of his soul. A piece that could never hope to be replaced. _She always told me not be a hero. Why couldn't she ever take her own advice?_ He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to force that train of thought from his mind before it got too far down the tracks.

Nothing could change the past, and she wouldn't want him thinking that way. She had always been especially concerned about him being distracted by thoughts of her during a mission. _This wasn't exactly what she had in mind, but I'm sure she'd give me the same lecture anyway. And God, what I wouldn't give to hear it._

He looked over his reflection again. Ian had many scars, and he was proud of all of them. They were his story, his experiences, everything he had fought for and survived. But that one held a special significance. It was the physical manifestation of the mark she had permanently left on him.

On his life. On his soul. No, Ian Edgerton did not want to heal.

* * *

An hour later, Ian found himself making his way stealthily into the unoccupied house across the street from the residence of Billy Rivers's cousin. According to the Professor's voodoo, this was the most likely place Hoyle and Winters would look for information regarding her ex-boyfriend's whereabouts.

Upstairs, Ian silently leaned against the doorframe of the room they had chosen for their stake out, rifle slung comfortably over one shoulder and cup of coffee in hand. Reeves was already there, on the phone with Don by the sound of things, but had yet to notice him.

The sniper gave an incredulous look to her appearance. _What the hell is the point of wearing black if you're gonna show that much skin?_ He entered the room and took a seat on the floor behind her, laying his rifle across his lap and continuing to drink his coffee.

"Yeah, SWAT's set up and we've got LAPD standing by to cordon off the area," she said into the phone, still completely unaware of the other agent behind her. She raised a set of binoculars to get a close-up view of the house. "No luck. Light's on in the hallway and one of the back rooms. Okay. I'll tell them to clear it out."

"Take it the house isn't empty?" Ian clarified. As a sniper, it was necessary for him to know who was on the scene and where they were positioned. If Hoyle should show up right now, he couldn't afford to take any shots that would put civilians at risk.

Reeves jumped, turning around and laying a hand over her heart. "God! You shouldn't sneak up on people like that." She was more on edge than she should be, but not because of him. He'd seen this case getting to her as soon as they'd started to piece together Hoyle's motives. He was also sure it didn't escape her notice that he offered no apology for startling her. "How long have you been there?"

Ian took a slow sip of his coffee. "Couple minutes."

She gave him a slightly perturbed look, turning back to the scene and shaking her head slightly. He could tell she was much less comfortable around him than the guys were, which he actually found reassuring since that was closer to the norm.

He moved up to the window. Across the street, Colby and David were taking up a position in the main room. After receiving his confirmation that the scene was clear, the SWAT team exited the house with the two occupants in tow, who Ian noted were still hastily throwing on clothes. _That's one way to spoil the mood. Better than the alternative though._

Ian imagined himself being called to the scene in a few hours to investigate the double homicide. _Two more victims of a madwoman on a killing rampage. If you really want to call her that._ He had collected an extensive amount of information on Crystal Hoyle's life, even interviewing her parents back in Austin, and he had found no explanation for what had brought her to this point. _What is it that makes people fight against the conditions life throws at them? Struggling to be better than what you've been handed in life, I can definitely understand. But Crystal..._

Ian snorted softly, which earned him an inquisitive look from the profiler. "It's amazing. How someone who starts with all the advantages - good home, good parents - ends up here."

"I don't think she wanted advantages," Reeves answered a little too assuredly for his comfort. "I think she just wanted to see what was out there."

Ian gave her a knowing look, with a hint of uncharacteristic compassion in it as well. "A little advice: When you get into heads like theirs, make sure they don't get into yours, too."

"You're probably right," she said with a self-conscious laugh.

A moment later, they saw Winters pull up to a house down the street. Without Crystal, which disturbed Edgerton greatly. _Why the hell would she send him alone?_ He kneeled down and hugged his rifle securely against his shoulder, keeping Buck firmly in his sights. The kid wasn't stupid; he stayed in the shadows. But it didn't make any difference with the sniper's night vision scope.

As Buck approached the back door to the house, Ian was vaguely aware of Reeves on the radio with David, quickly coming to the conclusion that they couldn't wait for Hoyle to show up to take the target. As much as he hated to admit it, they were right.

After two weeks of avoiding law enforcement and the FBI's best fugitive hunter through dozens of robberies and murders, Buck Winters found himself under arrest in the blink of an eye. Granger and Sinclair forced the target back. Winters pulled his weapon. Edgerton fired. The shot pierced the night with a sharp, resounding crack, finding its mark in the target's forearm. He dropped the gun, and in seconds David had him in handcuffs.

Ian heard Colby's voice over the radio. "That was a hell of a shot."

"Better than he deserves," he responded. The callous comment earned him a slightly horrified look from Reeves, which he pointedly ignored. He picked up his coffee from where he'd set it, took a nice large gulp, and left the room without a word.

He was back at his vehicle, packing up his rifle, when David came over to him. "Hey, nice shot, man."

"Figured it was better than letting you guys get into a close-quarters gunfight," the sniper replied casually.

"Sounds good to me," he chuckled. He paused for a few seconds, turning more serious. "I just got off the phone with Don. He wants to handle the interrogation."

Obviously David had been warned to expect a forceful objection from him. _Well, sorry to disappoint you, Eppes._ "Okay."

"Okay?" David repeated cautiously.

Ian smirked. "Buck is young, crazy, and in love. You really think you're gonna get anything out of him about where to find Hoyle? No, David. I'm perfectly happy letting him be a pain in Don's ass instead of mine. Because if I went in there, I'd be tempted to cross the line."

Edgerton didn't specify which line he was referring to, and David wisely chose not to ask. He would head back to the FBI office to watch the interrogation, because he wasn't at all willing to just walk away and let Eppes solve _his_ case, but after that he intended to go back to his hotel and rest so that he'd be in peak condition tomorrow to begin a new hunt for Crystal Hoyle.

* * *

Ian sat on the bed, wiping an oil-soaked rag over his rifle, contemplating what his next move should be. It had been completely unexpected for Buck to fall into their trap alone. And, as predicted, Eppes and Reeves had gotten nothing out of him, except the admission that he had been the one to murder his father. Ian doubted the truth of that, but he had no proof that the kid was lying.

In the end, he was glad he had let Eppes handle it. They were all extremely frustrated with the case by this point, but he had been frustrated far longer than the rest of the team. Every time they got close to apprehending the two killers, some wild card would knock them right back to square one. She'd even somehow managed, probably through sheer dumb luck, to stay ahead of the Professor's voodoo.

As he finished cleaning his weapon, Ian realized that the only way they were going to catch her was for the hunter and both the Eppes brothers to be working together, drawing on each other's talents and making up for each other's weaknesses. _Same way we got the L.A. Sniper. Same way we found McHugh._ When he thought about it, he acknowledged that perhaps he had made a mistake in treating this case any differently than the ones they had worked together before.

This time, Ian did strip off his shirt and pants before climbing into the bed. It felt unusually cold and empty, even to a man who was used to spending his life alone in hotel rooms. He felt a dull ache in his chest as he was reminded of the warm comfort of falling asleep with the woman he loved wrapped tightly in his arms.

He'd felt protective of her from the moment they'd met, when he'd come across her pinning an obstinate young Butter Bar who'd gotten too aggressive in his advances against the ground and delivering some very creative threats of what would happen should he ever lay a hand on her again. They'd become friends after he had conveniently forgotten to report witnessing an NCO assaulting an officer.

Everyone knew that the unofficial policy of the U.S. Military's leaders regarding sexual assault was that the women who signed up to serve should also expect to have to "serve" the men, and trying to fight that policy entailed so many risks that most women either acquiesced or got the hell out by whatever means necessary.

Ian knew by her stubborn refusal to bow to that heinous attitude that she was a fighter, and he respected her immensely for that. And the more he came to understand her, the more he realized that his feelings went far beyond respect. Though the thing he respected most about her was her wisdom.

She had always had a knack for telling him exactly what he needed to hear. He knew her so well that he could picture exactly what she would say about this case: "It's difficult to change the way you work with people, Ian. Especially if you're not willing to change yourself. But when you're on a mission, you have to go at each problem as it comes up. My favorite General put it best when he said, 'Plans are useless. Planning is indispensable.' You have to be flexible enough to adapt to the needs of the moment, even if that means doing something you wouldn't normally be willing to. Your detachment protects you, but you need to learn to let it go when it becomes a weakness."

Despite the tinge of grief he always felt when he thought of her, just imagining her words gave him a measure of comfort. It eased his mind enough to allow him to finally get a few hours' sleep. And as he drifted further into unconsciousness, he could almost feel her fingers gently stroking through his hair and her tender voice whispering his name.

_"Sleep, Ian. This will all be over soon. Don't worry."_

* * *

_**Spook:** A nickname given to US military (or government) personnel who specialize in Intelligence.  
**Butter Bar:** What enlisted NCO's sometimes call freshly commissioned 2nd Lieutenants (or Ensigns in the Navy) who are just out of training and inexperienced. I've known a few who were quite arrogant. The term comes from their rank insignia, which consists of a single gold bar. Like a stick of butter.  
_

_Considering current events, I hope that last part wasn't too... political._ _The necessary background on Ian's lover: She is an NCO (a few ranks below Ian), in her mid-twenties (quite a bit younger than Ian, which is part of his protectiveness and hesitation to admit his feelings), and she has the same abilities with patterns as Charlie (cryptography and linguistics instead of math). Hopefully that clears up anything on that topic that may have been confusing.__  
_


	7. Sharing Breakfast

_Ever wonder why Ian and Charlie are alone together looking at maps in the beginning of Two Daughters?_

* * *

Apparently, Professor Charles Eppes was not a morning person. Not that anyone would appreciate being woken up at six in the morning after working well into the night, especially by their cell phone ringing.

"I swear, Don," the mathematician slurred into the phone, still half asleep, "If you make me get up this early, I'll put you on the bed of nails."

"You know you can go to prison for threatening a federal agent, Professor."

Charlie was so tired that it took him a minute to place the voice. "Ian?!"

"I'm sorry to wake you, Professor, but I need your help." Ian was truly sorry; he empathized with the math consultant, having gotten less than four hours of sleep himself.

That apparently got Charlie's attention, as his next words were much more alert. "Did you get the spree killers?"

"Not exactly. For some damn reason, Buck showed up alone. We got him. But Crystal's still out there, and we have no idea where."

Ian raised his eyebrows at Charlie's response; he never would have expected to hear those particular expletives coming out of the mouth of the world renowned math genius. "Can you come over in half an hour?"

"Should I bring a notebook and a Number 2 pencil?" Ian joked. He heard Charlie sigh, and quickly confirmed that he would be over soon, adding a thanks for the Professor's willingness to have his day disrupted for the sake of their case. _Again._

* * *

Thirty-five minutes later, Agent Edgerton made his way up the driveway of the Eppes family home. The sun was still shining, but he could tell from the clouds scattered across the sky that there would be storms in a day or two. Not unusual for September in Southern California.

Ian heard Charlie yell for him to come in a few seconds after he rang the doorbell. He hesitated, not particularly comfortable with just walking into a colleague's house, but figured there was probably a reason that Charlie hadn't come to the door. Ian took a few steps into the entryway, raising an eyebrow at the various papers, books, and clothes strewn about the room.

"Ian, come in here!" Charlie called from the kitchen. Ian let out a soft chuckle as he obliged him. _Just like your brother, trying to order me around._ "Could you stir the eggs while I finish the toast?" The poor man looked so overwhelmed that Ian kept his sarcastic comments to himself as he complied with the request.

"Do I smell coffee?" Ian asked after Charlie had finished buttering the toast.

"I usually have orange juice, but Don's told me how obsessive you are about coffee." He moved over to a cabinet and pulled out two plates. He loaded one with eggs and toast and handed it to Ian. "Mugs are in the cupboard next to you."

Ian stared at the plate for a moment, and then took it a bit reluctantly. Charlie filled up the second plate while Ian grabbed a cup and poured himself some coffee. He never questioned coffee. The Professor grabbed some forks and napkins and then casually took a seat at the dining room table.

Ian followed behind him, completely bewildered. _Did he actually... ask me over here to have breakfast with him?_ Ian took a long drink from his cup; he hadn't found time yet for coffee that morning, and he intended to enjoy it no matter how strange the circumstances.

Charlie had begun digging into his food, and when he noticed that Ian hadn't done the same, he looked at the agent with what could only be called puppy dog eyes. "Are you not hungry?"

"I'm famished actually," Ian said, picking up his fork. _Hell, when was the last time I ate?_ "But your brother's right about me and coffee." Thankfully, this alleviated the young man's nervousness. After a mouthful of eggs, Ian added, "Thank you, Professor."

"Hey, no problem. I figured since I missed out on dinner the other night..." There was something about the Professor's attitude that suggested to Ian that he had spent a lot of his life feeling left out. _Five years younger than Don and in the same grade in school. Bet that was fun._ "So what happened last night with the stake out?"

Ian recounted to the Professor how his voodoo had accurately pinpointed the killers' next target, how the team had been in the perfect position to take them, and how Buck had mysteriously shown up alone and given them no information on Hoyle.

"They've never split up before," Ian said, clearly frustrated with Hoyle's good fortune. "Never. There's no telling what she'll do now that Buck's in custody."

"So... what do you want me to do?"

Ian grimaced at the question. "I was hoping you could tell me, Professor."

* * *

Agent Edgerton did not like the look on the Professor's face. After breakfast, Charlie had suggested they look over the data they had collected on Hoyle's movements, hoping they could ascertain some sort of pattern in the randomness. Ian got the impression that Charlie was grasping at straws, afraid of disappointing him. _Or worse, disappointing his brother._

Ian sipped at his second cup of coffee, watching the Professor lean over a map. So far, Crystal's movements had only been loosely connected to what they had established as her motives. A second map marked the locations of reported sightings of the fugitive killer made by the public, who were notoriously unreliable. As evidenced by the dozens of conflicting dots Ian had counted.

"I can try to weed out some of the bad data here," Charlie said, drawing Ian's eyes back to the map on the table. "If we eliminate some of the points that conflict – for example the three different locations reported at the same time, since that's obviously not possible – we can get a better idea of her actual movements. I did it once before actually, about two years ago, when Don was tracking this escaped fugitive with his old partner."

"Coop was here?" Ian asked, surprised. He knew that Don Eppes had been partners with Agent Billy Cooper when he worked in Fugitive Recovery. And Coop knew that Edgerton had worked a few cases with Don since he transferred to L.A., but neither of them had mentioned to Ian that they'd worked together recently.

"You know him?" Charlie asked cautiously. Ian imagined that the two of them had not exactly gotten along famously.

"Of course. He's one of the best fugitive trackers in the FBI." He paused to take another sip of coffee. "Not as good as me though," he added with a mischievous smirk.

"No one is." Ian raised his eyebrows at the younger man's casual comment, grinning slightly. When Charlie noticed the agent's expression, he was quick to amend his praise. "At least that's what Don told me."

"I don't feel all that great on this case," Ian replied, before he could think about what he was saying. _What the hell? Since when am I so forthcoming with my feelings?_ He was grateful that the Professor didn't try to reassure him with empty words.

"Yeah. I know how you feel. I wish I could do more to help, you know? But to be honest, I doubt this is going to turn up anything we can use. The data is insufficient to derive any accurate predictions based on past behavior. And we've yet to determine how the removal of Winters as a factor will affect her decision process."

"Back to square one. We don't know enough about her motives to know where she'll go next, or how she'll react to Buck being captured," Ian translated for his own benefit. _I may not speak voodoo, but I understand the hunting principle well enough._ "No magic soap bubbles for this one, huh, Professor?"

Charlie smiled at the reference. "Nope. No Steiner trees either."

The Professor's phone rang, and Ian looked over the map again as he listened to Charlie's side of his conversation with his brother. A few times, Ian felt Charlie's eyes flick over to him, and he could tell by his voice that something was making the younger man nervous.

He ended the call, and Ian turned to ask, "Problem?"

"Most likely. Don got a call from LAPD about a stolen vehicle. Looks like Crystal left it for them to find."

"What makes him say that?"

"There was a message in it. 'Buck goes free.'"

"No body?" Charlie shook his head, and Ian furrowed his brow. "Guess we were right about her behavior becoming unpredictable. That's way off her MO."

"Don sent someone to pick me up and take me over there." Ever since the incident with the sniper, Ian knew Don had been very strict about Charlie going to crime scenes. If he had to be there, Don always personally arranged transport for him. The Professor probably chafed at his brother babying him, but that policy actually came from the Bureau, who quietly considered consultants to be a liability in the field.

"Let me know if you get any insights," Ian said, making for the break room to refill his mug. Charlie followed after him.

"You're staying here?"

"I doubt she just happened to find the car sitting around. She had to have taken it from somewhere else after Buck took the Trans Am, and then left it there for us to find. I'm gonna see if LAPD has anything on where it was stolen from. See if I can get an idea of what she might've been doing in the area."

"You really think that'll help?" Charlie asked softly.

Ian continued out of the room, and didn't answer.

* * *

An hour later, Ian stood, bent over a table, next to Eppes, replaying the security camera footage of their own office from the night before. When they learned that Reeves had been kidnapped by Hoyle, the tracker had figured that the fugitive must have followed her at some point after Colby and David left to move Buck to the Federal Detention Center.

As Granger entered to inform the team that Megan's cell phone had been located and road blocks put in place throughout the city, Ian raised a hand to indicate Don should pause the playback, then pointed out a blurry figure in the driver's seat of a van – which looked to be the same as the one they had found this morning – parked a few spaces behind Reeves's vehicle.

"There she is," Ian said, recognizing his prey instantly.

"All right. Let's see how long she waited," Don said as he began rolling back the footage. It showed Hoyle pulling up to the building, right behind the agents as they brought Winters in for processing.

"She didn't wait," Colby observed. "She followed."

"All right, look," Don began, his leader persona coming out full force. "Crystal wakes up. She finds Buck missing, right?"

"They've already killed one old boyfriend, Pierce Brenner," Ian reminded.

"Now he's out looking for this other guy, Billy Rivers, who's boyfriend number two."

"She must've showed up right at the time we locked up Buck," Colby interjected with a slightly angry edge to his normally calm voice.

"And followed us straight back here," Ian finished.

"Tch, that takes some kinda guts parking right out there, man." Don, it seemed, was even more exasperated than any of them, except maybe Edgerton.

"What kind of person takes that kind of risk?" the Professor asked, trying not to show how nervous he felt at the idea of one of their teammates in the hands of the ruthless killer. Ian knew he was afraid though, because he was afraid too. The sniper was simply much better at hiding it.

"The scariest kind," Ian softly responded to the Professor's rhetorical question. "Too crazy to care. Smart enough not to get caught."

Colby and Charlie both looked to Ian, who simply stared into the video monitor as if leering at it would gain them some answers, and then exchanged a nervous glance with each other. Don stormed out of the room just for the sake of making his frustrations known, as if his precarious emotional state wasn't already clear to the team.

_How the hell could I have let this happen? Hang in there, Reeves. We'll get you back. And then I'm taking Crystal Hoyle down, once and for all._

* * *

_I trust you guys have a pretty good idea of what happens between Ian and Don in the next chapter..._


	8. Crossing a Line

_Warning: The language gets a little intense in this chapter, and will probably stay that way for a few more. It's not much more explicit than what I've been using in Ian's thoughts, but it is spoken aloud in dialogue and directed at people, which I feel makes it a bit more serious._

* * *

Don Eppes was a seasoned agent. He had seen a hell of a lot in his time, and he was no stranger to guilt. But this was different; it was beyond personal. Ian knew what Eppes was feeling, and where it could lead. He'd been there, even before the FBI. He suspected Don had a good idea as well, having worked in Fugitive Recovery for so long himself.

It was one of the many psychological job hazards of the game. Once in a while, as Ian had with this case, the agent assigned to catch a killer would unwittingly try to shoulder some of the blame for the victims. If those thoughts were left unchecked, he might even start to feel as guilty as he would if he had pulled the trigger himself.

But for Don this went beyond the mental clawing of a misplaced sense of responsibility. Reeves was not just another victim. She was an agent. _His_ agent. He _was_ responsible for her. And if Hoyle harmed her, Don knew he would forever bear the full brunt of the guilt for that crime.

Ian understood that burden much more intimately than he would ever admit to anyone. It was one of the main reasons he kept himself so closed off from everyone, his emotions so deeply buried that he probably couldn't bring them to the surface if he tried. He had long ago accepted the necessity of the decision he had made, the cold logic of his reasoning. The investigation had ensured that he had plenty of opportunity to understand what had happened.

But he could never acknowledge the incident afterward. He could never let himself feel the unbearable remorse he knew was lying dormant deep inside him. Because he knew, with absolute certainty, that to do so would break him.

Ian could see that Don knew he was now standing at that same precipice himself. And that was why it didn't surprise the other agent when Eppes came into the break room, locked the door behind him, and stared Edgerton right in the eye as he spoke the words that would change him and their relationship forever.

"Okay, straight up. The rumors about you using _force_ to get information out of suspects... How true are they?"

Ian held Don's gaze for a moment while he took a long sip of his coffee. Some agents who knew him better than most swore they could gauge how badly a case was going by the number of cups Edgerton drank in a day. This was his fourth in less than two hours of work, which he figured was probably a pretty accurate representation of the terrible turn this case had taken this morning.

"True enough," he finally replied. At that moment, everything about Don radiated his anger. _I wonder how much of it is directed at Hoyle and how much is at himself. And if he can tell the difference yet._ "But if you're thinking about going down that road, Eppes, I can't say I would recommend it."

"I'm not going down that road, Ian," he answered firmly. "You are."

That actually made Edgerton put down his coffee. He stared hard at Eppes, trying to work out what was going on in the other man's mind. _Here I thought he just wanted some pointers._

"You don't have that authority, Eppes." Ian was trying his best to talk him out of this without specifically pulling the You'll-Beat-Yourself-Up-Over-It-Later card.

Eppes could be a stubborn, hard headed bastard, and he'd seen enough to know how to detach himself for the sake of getting the job done and coming out of it in one piece. But, to Edgerton's knowledge, Agent Don Eppes had never crossed certain lines. _Any lines, really._ Ian could tell that Don - whose entire being right now was focused with laser-like intensity on recovering Reeves - was determined to make that leap, regardless of the consequences. But he wasn't going to make it too easy for him. _Especially when you're so unsure that you're pushing the dirty work off on me._

"She's _my_ _agent_, Ian! And right now, she's in the hands of a crazy bitch who-"

"I get that, Eppes," Ian cut him off, in that always-eerily-calm voice of his. "But what you're asking me to do isn't gonna magically get her back. We have no reason to even believe Buck would know anything about where Crystal took her. You have to understand what you're committing to."

"I _understand_ that anything that damn kid knows, we need to get from him. I've made my decision."

"You sure you're prepared to live with that?"

"Hell, Ian, don't you try to tell me this bothers you! Don't think I didn't hear about your choice words last night." He was laughing, a dry, mocking laugh that made Ian's temper flare.

"Yeah, Eppes, actually it does. I'm not a damn sociopath who gets off on hurting people, believe it or not." He took a deep breath, combing his fingers through his thick black hair and reigning in his anger. He may be emotionally distant, even stone-faced, but the ignorant presumption that it made him a nutcase was one of Ian Edgerton's greatest pet peeves.

He took another calming breath and raised his eyes. Through the window, he caught sight of Granger standing on the other side of a group of desks, watching them. He could tell by the worried look in the young man's eyes that he wasn't the only one concerned about where this case was taking Eppes. It had been getting under Don's skin from the moment they'd realized Hoyle was in possession of a munitions crate worth of frag grenades.

Don was pacing across the small room now, one hand on his hip and the other rubbing over his eyes. As he came back around, Ian grabbed him by the shoulders to stop him. Eppes stared at him in shock; except for the occasional handshake, he had never seen Ian touch anyone before.

"I'll do whatever it takes," Ian said softly. "You know that. Reeves is a fellow agent. But I need to know that you understand what you're doing. What you're asking me to do. Once you cross that line, you can never go back. I'm saying this as a friend, Don."

Much to his surprise, Ian didn't find it strange to say that. He supposed he'd always considered Don Eppes a friend, and just didn't know how to admit it to himself. He kept his grip on Eppes's shoulders and watched him mull over his blunt words.

He knew it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference; Eppes had "weighted the values," as his brother would say, and made his decision before he'd approached him. That was probably what he had been doing in the past hour since he'd skulked off after seeing the footage of Hoyle parked outside the office. But Ian had needed to say it regardless of whether it made a difference, because it made a difference to him.

After a moment, Eppes nodded, his eyes reflecting only a firm conviction. "How do you wanna play this?" _Well, at least he has the sense to defer to my experience_, Ian thought wryly.

"You go in first. Give him a chance to talk. Make sure to close the blinds. He doesn't cooperate, just walk out. I'll take it from there."

He didn't specify what he was going to do, and he appreciated that Eppes didn't ask. He never liked discussing this particular topic. The circumstances under which he'd come to acquire this skill were among the many "incidents" during his military career that he didn't care to remember. And though he'd been justified in putting it to use several times, both for the Army and the FBI, the act always wore him down just a little bit more each time.

He would never admit it, but sometimes, late at night as he lay alone in some cold hotel room bed staring at the generic white ceiling, Agent Ian Edgerton honestly wondered if there would be anything left of him by the time he retired. _Tch, like that'll ever happen._

Don left to oversee the transfer of Buck Winters to the team's enclosed, soundproof conference room, and Ian picked up his mug and refilled it, using the simple action of pouring the coffee and the comfort of the hot liquid to keep himself from thinking about what he was going to do. His ever-alert senses picked up on Granger moving toward him well before the young agent entered the room. He pulled out a cup to offer him, but he simply shook his head.

"How can you think about coffee breaks right now?" Colby asked quietly.

Ian responded with a bitter chuckle. "Trust me, Granger. You don't want me around when I haven't had coffee." The other man was silent, and Ian turned to regard him. "I know it feels ridiculous to worry about mundane things like eating and drinking and sleeping when lives are in danger, but those things are necessary. Not only to keep you fit and alert, but to keep your mind focused, so that you'll be ready when the time comes." He paused to give the other former soldier a meaningful look. "And I know you know that better than anyone else here."

Colby stayed quiet for another moment, then sighed deeply. "Yeah. I guess that's what worries me though. That mentality... it never goes away, does it?"

"No. No it doesn't."

"Don isn't like that, is he? He doesn't get that you have to keep a clear head and make the right decisions. That's what's gonna get Megan back." Colby's voice was harsher than Ian had ever heard it. And he was right; Don's style wasn't the same as theirs. He didn't have the detached clarity that most soldiers picked up in combat, that absolute conviction to put aside fear and pain and weakness because the mission came before all else.

"He'll do what needs to be done, Colby," Ian said softly. Granger snorted.

"Or he'll ask you to do it." Apparently his argument with Don had been loud enough to be heard outside the break room. Ian was expecting condemnation, so that's what he initially took Granger's comment to be. But after a moment's thought, he decided it was something else entirely.

"You're worried about him crossing a line, too."

"I was lucky that I never had to cross that line over there. But I saw guys who did. Saw what it did to them. Maybe I'm just being cynical, but I don't think Don's ready to handle that."

Ian gave a short, sarcastic laugh. "I'd ask you to tell him that, but I don't think he'd listen to you any more than he listened to me."

"Yeah, well. Once Don makes a decision..." _He's a stubborn son of a bitch, that's for sure._

They both stayed silent as they watched Buck Winters being escorted, in full shackles except for his wounded arm, across the bullpen. Ian calmly finished his coffee, and then he and Granger joined Eppes outside the door. The senior agent's gaze locked with Ian's, his eyes burning with a barely controlled inferno of rage. And terror.

Colby laid his hand on Don's shoulder and opened his mouth to speak, but his boss shrugged him off and burst into the conference room without a word. Ian was a little surprised that it didn't bother him when Granger stayed with him, leaning against one of the desks in the bullpen, waiting for the door to open. He looked over at Ian once or twice, concerned not only for Eppes but apparently for him as well, but said nothing. He knew there was nothing to say. _Yeah, Granger. You get it. You're not the innocent farmboy everyone pegs you for. And I can respect that._

Edgerton's gaze remained firmly locked straight ahead of him. Don had left only the blinds over the door open so that Ian could see him coming toward it. When he did, eyes meeting Ian's through the glass, the sniper didn't even hesitate to jump to his feet, reaching the door in two long strides and making sure the first thing Buck Winters saw was the look of cold determination on his face.

_"You just do it, Ian. Do whatever it takes to get what you need. It's something that needs to be done, so it's something you learn to live with. Like removing a man's brain from his head from a thousand yards away." You're going down for this, Hoyle. No matter what it takes._

* * *

_Don't worry. It won't stay this split up forever. And that last part is kind of a preview of the next chapter, which will be rather flashback heavy, which is why it is split up. Needless to say, the next one gets fairly dark, if not downright graphic (haven't decided yet; have to consider ratings)._


	9. Finding the Way Back

Note: I trust you can see why this took a bit longer to finish. I kept revisiting my imagining of what happened behind the blinds, and I hope this is fairly believable. I by no means claim to be an expert on torture. Also, unless otherwise stated, all of the flashbacks take place during Ian's time in Afghanistan. This part of his character just intrigues me, and it disappoints me that they never really expanded on it in the show.

* * *

_When Ian found himself called in to a briefing with the SpecOps brass at 0400, he generally took it as a good sign that it could be the last day of his life. That never bothered him. _Why should it bother me to die doing what I live for? _The Colonel had yet to arrive, so the briefing room was packed mostly with field officers and a few senior NCO's quietly contemplating what could be so damned important that they all had to be dragged from their precious five hours of nightly rest._

_ Ian knew the grumbling was mostly smokescreen for the concern or downright fear that most, if not all, of them were feeling. Because everyone high enough on the ladder to be in this room was experienced enough to know that when they pulled the officers out of their bunks this early in the morning, it usually meant something somewhere had somehow gone seriously FUBAR. And they would either have to readjust any current operational plans to compensate for it, or be the ones to go out and fix it._

_ Today, Edgerton would put his money on the latter. If he had any._

_ The murmuring ceased as abruptly as if someone had flipped a switch and the entire room stood to attention as the Colonel entered. Ian felt his heart skip a beat when he caught sight of the woman who walked at his side. Her usual eerily placid expression had been replaced by tense shoulders and a set jaw that spoke of grim determination. But it was her eyes that showed the most drastic change; the ever present calmness he so loved about them was still there, but it was shrouded in something... cold. _

_ Her gaze always had a sort of distant quality to it, which Ian attributed to her remarkable mind. When she looked at someone, it was like she could see right through the surface and straight into the soul. She was always focused, hard to read. Harder than him, which had captivated him from the first time they'd spoken. But he had never seen her eyes like this, with the harsh, icy quality they had now. To say it terrified him would be an understatement._

_ The Colonel began the briefing, cutting right to the chase and informing them all quite bluntly that a squad of Rangers whose MH-47 had been shot down en route to a classified location had been captured by a Taliban cell operating out of the mountains about 50 kilometers northeast of the base. Which meant that their division was the closest and best-equipped for a rescue operation._

_ Edgerton had been involved in enough ops like this one to know that they were tricky, to say the least. The nature of this war made it difficult to fight under any circumstances, despite the UN forces having vastly superior military resources. The insurgent groups had the advantage of having spent their whole lives in these mountains, which made their guerrilla tactics dangerously effective even when the Army threw everything it had against them. They had been forced to bring back a lesson learned the hard way back in the Cold War days: play by their rules._

_ The Colonel allayed almost everyone's immediate concerns when he started outlining the plan for the mission. It was solid, planned to the letter and obviously based on some very detailed intel. Ian guessed he knew who to thank for that. The lines between specialties were a bit less solid in Special Operations than they were elsewhere in the military, and it was something of an open secret that, despite the ban on women serving in front line positions, this particular female intelligence specialist did more than a little "consulting" on the planning and "observation" on the execution of tactical operations._

_ There was nothing more rare and precious for Special Forces personnel than thorough and reliable information, which meant that questioning its accuracy or the methods by which it was obtained was the furthest thing from the minds of most of the people in the room. Though apparently not all._

_ "Sir," one of the officers, a captain from the 160th that Ian didn't recognize, began harshly after being given permission to speak. "With all due respect, aren't we taking a hell of a risk with relying on such a detailed plan? I mean, how do we know where their patrols are or how many guards they have on the prisoners?" _

_ Everyone in the room was silent as they stared at the man. A few of the NCO's were shaking their heads, and one of the other officers was trying to motion for the arrogant captain to shut his mouth. Ian paid no attention to any of it, because his attention was focused on the deathly cold look the man was being shot by the one person he was blatantly ignoring. Ian's shock at her look turned to understanding as the captain continued his rant._

_ "I bet the damn spooks wouldn't be so willing to base ops on numbers they pulled out of their asses if they had to get out from behind their desks and get their hands dirty." _Oh hell, she must have known it was coming. Guess there's a downside to that mind reading voodoo. _"Where the hell would a little girl even get this kind of information from? No offense." Ian clenched his fists, and had to stop himself from picturing the ignorant bastard's head in his crosshairs._

_ "No offense," the woman in question responded dryly, without missing a beat. "But perhaps if you bothered to check _your_ intel or had any actual experience working real operations, you would have the sense to figure out that half a dozen SpecOps commanders wouldn't base a critical rescue mission, especially one laid out so precisely, on anything less than complete 'disclosure' from a direct source. Like the Taliban operative captured by the Force Recon unit which happened to be in the area and arrived at the crash site immediately after the attack. And if you're that worried about the accuracy of the information you've received from 'the damn spooks,' you are welcome to learn how we _obtain_ that information and get _your _hands dirty putting it to use. Sir."_

_ The captain slowly sank back into his seat, wisely choosing not to dig himself a deeper hole by challenging her. Everyone in the room, except the Colonel, stared at her in absolute shock, not because of her flagrant breach of military protocol, but because it was probably the first time any of them had ever heard her speak. Her voice had held no anger or outrage whatsoever; it had been quiet and controlled, with the same icy calm as her eyes. And, somehow, Ian knew that her uncharacteristic lecture would not be the only evidence of how much whatever she had done to get their intel had taken from her._

* * *

Agent Ian Edgerton carefully scrutinized the look on Buck Winters's face as he let the conference room door slam shut behind him, instantly sealing out the hectic sounds of the FBI office and leaving the two of them in suffocating silence. Winters stubbornly maintained his obstinate expression, no doubt the same one he'd given Eppes when he'd asked him to give them Hoyle's location. Ostensibly, he was trying to convince Edgerton that he would not betray his lover.

But Ian knew better. No detail eluded his sharp eyes, and he had carefully honed his skills at reading people throughout his career. _Skills I studied with the master._ The slight widening of Buck's eyes as he recognized the agent who'd hunted them across the country, the stiffening of his spine as he registered the steely resolve in the man's dark eyes, the way he casually avoided making direct eye contact with the agent... all told Ian that Buck was actually trying to convince himself. _Trying to play it cool, huh, you little bastard? _

Edgerton made a show of closing the last set of blinds over the door before gradually turning to face Winters again. This time, their eyes met, and Ian took advantage of the young killer's first mistake. Ian's cold, penetrating gaze never left Buck's as he made a series of slow, deliberate movements: stepping up to the table, rolling up his sleeves to show the toned muscle underneath, leaning down to place his hands flat on the surface of the table and bring his face close to Buck's.

He smiled cruelly when Buck made his second mistake. He pulled back, ever so slightly, and Ian reached across to grab the front of his shirt and force him closer. "Hope you had fun on your little cross-country killing spree, because I don't think you're gonna get much chance to play the alpha dog when you're some gang banger's bitch. At least until they stick the needle in your arm."

To emphasize his point, Edgerton slapped his palm hard against the bullet wound in Buck's forearm, earning a grunt of pain. "You know what I said after I shot you?" He waited for the kid to raise his eyes to his again. When he didn't, instead turning his face away and casting his gaze toward the floor, Ian grabbed his chin and forced him to look up at him. "I said that it was better than you deserve. Some other agents might see you as some poor kid who made the wrong decisions, but I know better. No, you're just a damn scumbag who gets off on hurting people. Giving back to the world some of the pain that it's dealt you."

Contrary to common beliefs, simply beating information out of someone who was committed to keeping it secret very rarely worked. At least not very efficiently. _Gotta get him to the point where he can't keep his mouth shut. Then it's just a matter of getting him to say the right things._ In Edgerton's experience, pushing a stubborn and particularly violent suspect's buttons to make him angry generally yielded the best results.

Ian grabbed Winters by the arm, wrapping his hand tightly over his injury, and pulled him forward, so his entire upper body was precariously hanging over the table, his legs unable to find a position where they could hold his weight. "Well let me tell you something. There is no such thing as a license to kill. However shitty you think your life's been, you don't get to use that as an excuse. A crackpot behavioral scientist might buy your sob story as an explanation, but your little adolescent drama doesn't mean jack shit in the real world."

He dropped Winters roughly back into his seat. He could see by the clenched jaw and burning fury in his eyes that he was succeeding in breaking through the kid's apathetic front. _Good. Now we're getting somewhere._ Ian was playing off of something he'd observed when Eppes and Reeves had interrogated Winters after his arrest: the only time he'd shown any emotion was during his confession to killing his father.

"Your mommy died and Dad was a drinker, so you act out with violence like some spoiled child throwing a tantrum. You know what that makes you? Weak. Pathetic!"

"Shut up!" the kid screamed. "Shut the hell up!" Buck seemed to realize that he had made yet another mistake with his outburst, and quickly looked away. Ian moved to the other side of the table, bending over to get right in Buck's face.

"She was the only one who was there for you?" Ian chuckled darkly. "What a load of shit. You kill Dad, you run to her for help, and her solution is to take advantage of it? She used you. To satisfy _her_ fantasies and _her_ twisted need for revenge!"

"No!" Buck cried. "Crys would never do that. She loves me!" His words were adamant, but his voice wavered, ever so slightly.

Eppes hadn't been able to pull off that angle, but Ian was confident that he could still work it to their advantage. _If only to screw with his head enough to get what I need out of it. What I wouldn't give for some mind reading voodoo right now..._

Ian straightened and grabbed the back of the chair, yanking it away from the table and spinning it so Winters was facing him, anticipating the response to his next question. "Where do I find Crystal, Buck?"

"Go to hell, you son of a bi-" Buck's expletive died on his lips as Ian's fist slammed into his gut and drove the air from his lungs.

* * *

_ Usually, when a man had the misfortune of being placed in Ian Edgerton's crosshairs, it meant his life expectancy had suddenly been reduced to a matter of seconds. By all accounts, the sniper shouldn't hesitate to take this bastard down; he was an enemy, she was an ally, and he was brandishing a knife. _

_ But Ian had been specifically ordered not to take any lethal shots unless it was absolutely necessary; the brass had made it abundantly clear that they wanted as few fatalities as possible during the rescue mission. On both sides. Ian guessed that they wanted to give their friends in Intelligence as many prisoners as possible to repay their less-than-honorable assistance in this rescue, but that wasn't the kind of thing that was acknowledged out loud, even in SpecOps. _

_ He hesitated to admit that this had, thus far, been one of their most successful incursions into an enemy stronghold for fear of jinxing it. Ian didn't consider himself at all superstitious – in fact he was usually pretty rigid in his cool and rational way of looking at the world – but he also didn't need to go out of his way to bring misfortune upon himself. Or his fellow soldiers. Especially ones he happened to be in love with._

_ Last Ian had heard, the captive Rangers had been extracted and were on their way to the landing zone where the helicopter would pick them up. Now the rest of their forces were pulling back, tying up loose ends, and a few of the specialists were completing their orders to gather as much intel as they could. She had been down there looking over maps, instantly committing the locations of the enemy camps to her eidetic memory. _

_ Woman or not, she wasn't the type of soldier to sit back and let others have all the fun. He admired that in her, except when it meant that he found himself watching her fend off a knife attack. He had sparred with her enough times to be painfully aware of her expertise in martial arts, but the heavy combat gear on her small frame negated her biggest advantage, and the one she needed most in close quarters: her agility. As the bastard advanced on her with the knife poised to sink into her chest, she came to the same conclusion, drawing her M9 and bringing it up to fire._

_ She never got the chance._

* * *

After coughing and sputtering for a moment trying to get oxygen back into his lungs, Buck Winters looked up into the cold, dark eyes of his tormentor. Ian could again see the fear that he was trying to mask with his anger. The kid had been arrogant enough to believe the FBI agents wouldn't actually use outright force to get information from him, and Edgerton was slightly unnerved at just how satisfying it was to prove him wrong.

_Bastard's been a pain in my ass for weeks and his girlfriend kidnapped an agent. I deserve a little release if it helps get Reeves back._ He repeated the question that had prompted Buck's stubborn outburst: "Where do I find Crystal?"

When he got no response, Ian sent another hard punch into his lower left side. Buck couldn't suppress the cry of pain that accompanied the cracking of his ribs. He tried to stand, to attempt to defend himself, before remembering that he was still in shackles. Ian took advantage of his poor balance, kicking out Buck's knees to sweep his legs out from under him and using the momentum and his own strength to slam the kid against the edge of the hard steel table.

Despite his mounting frustration and the direness of the situation, Edgerton was careful with just how much force he applied. _"You can't let anger or violence get the better of you. You have to be completely detached and realize that there are limits to what even the most effective methods of persuasion can achieve."_ He couldn't take this too much further without risking serious consequences. Besides, the bastard wouldn't be able to talk much with a punctured lung.

"I'm only gonna ask this one more time. Where... is... Crystal?"

Buck labored for breath against the waves of agony shooting up from his injured arm, pinned beneath the weight of the two men against the cold steel of the table. He stiffly turned his head to look into the colder steel of the agent's eyes. "I don't know," he whispered. Ian shifted his weight to apply a little more force, and Buck again cried out in pain. "I don't know! I swear!"

Ian held him there for another thirty seconds before pulling the two of them back and unceremoniously dumping Winters back into the chair. He leaned down over him again, as he had done right before delivering the first blow, in a manner that strongly suggested he keep talking if he didn't want any more.

"We didn't have a plan of where to go. Crys was looking for some guy."

"Billy Rivers," Ian stated impatiently. _Get to the part we don't already know, dumbass._

Buck nodded. "She wanted something from him. I don't know what. She said we'd figure out where to go after we got it."

"Did she have any kind of list of hideouts? Places she planned to go when we got too close?"

"No. Whenever you guys showed up, she would just drive to random places until she found a good spot to hide."

"Where was she hiding when you went looking for Rivers?"

Buck stayed quiet as he looked down at the floor, wondering how badly he was about to betray his lover. Up until now, he hadn't actually revealed anything that could be used against her, and he was most likely trying to figure out how great a risk it would be to give them this location. Ian made sure the look on his face told Winters in no uncertain terms that it would be a much greater risk for him to refuse.

"We were crashing at an empty house," he finally answered, his voice thick with resentment.

Ian produced a pad of paper and a pen and tossed them on the table. "Write down the address."

Despite the situation, Ian couldn't help but be a little amused by the look Buck gave him, which said something like, _That would be a hell of a lot easier if you hadn't shot me in the arm, you son of a bitch._ Ian thought the bastard should just be grateful for that. It really was better than he deserved, and it wouldn't have been his first choice had Hoyle shown up as they had expected.

With his pain starting to fade into memory, Buck was rapidly reverting to his earlier recalcitrance. He glared at Edgerton as he shoved the pad back across the table, smirking arrogantly at the agent's expression as he made out the barely legible address. This didn't escape Ian's notice. He calmly tore the page from the pad, placing it on the small desk near the door, and stepped back over to Buck.

"This is the last place you know of that Hoyle was staying." Winters briefly raised his eyes to Ian's, before turning away and silently nodding his confirmation. The agent closed the distance between them, leaned down, and grabbed the front of his shirt roughly, pulling him part of the way up from his sitting position. "And you don't know where she is now?"

Buck then made his final mistake of the interrogation; he rolled his eyes at the question Ian had fruitlessly asked him so many times before. He was shoved back into the chair and doubled over from a blow to his stomach before he could give his sarcastic answer. Ian didn't wait for him to straighten up again before he pushed the chair back into its original position in front of the table, and he didn't give Winters another glance as he calmly strode out of the conference room.

* * *

_"Thanks for watching my back."_

_ Ian's eyes stayed stubbornly fixed on the rifle he was meticulously cleaning. "It's my job." He inwardly cringed at the unintended harshness of his reply. As they were preparing for the mission, Ian had quietly pulled her aside and questioned whether it was necessary for her to personally accompany them on the rescue. _

_ He'd realized instantly that he'd made a tactical error in his timing, with that arrogant captain's words still fresh in her mind... along with whatever she'd done to prompt that terrifying coldness in her eyes. Her words had also been cold, rational. And the practiced ease with which she had brushed off his concern had stung in a way that Ian was completely unaccustomed to._

_ He expected her to leave, having finally reached the point where his rough exterior would drive even her away, despite her tenacity in establishing their strange friendship. He was pleasantly surprised when she stayed standing there, and he noticed his heart rate increase slightly as he felt her eyes on him, observing him caring for the tool of his trade. The Colonel had once joked that it was quite a fascinating experience, watching the legendary Bastard Son of Clint Eastwood and Yoda work. _

_ She waited for him to finish and lay the rifle gently into its case before moving to sit beside him on his bunk, staring at the floor and saying nothing. Her usually sharp, calm eyes had finally lost the harsh coldness he'd seen earlier, and now looked tired and clouded. Which disturbed him even more than the coldness. That was quite a common trait for the war-weary soldiers in Afghanistan, but he would never have expected to see it in her. His still rapidly beating heart ached slightly, and he instinctively felt compelled to reach out for her._

_ He was relieved that she didn't pull her hand away when his fingers brushed against it; he had often seen her flinch, or worse, when a man tried to touch her. Slowly, gently, he wrapped his hand around hers. Her face belied nothing, and she still hadn't looked at him, but he was relieved to feel her thumb lightly caressing his knuckles in acknowledgement of his gesture._

_ "I heard from one of the medics that all the Rangers are expected to be fine," Ian said softly, after another moment of silence. _

_ "Yeah. It's always nice to know that it's worth it." She didn't have to specify what "it" was. Everyone who worked in SpecOps knew damn well that they couldn't always play by the book. "We got some good intel too. The Colonel had me working on it as soon as we got back. Which was probably good, considering some of the places my mind has been today."_

_ "Where was it when that bastard snuck up on you with a knife?" Ian asked before he could stop himself. He'd been lucky to catch the movement while scanning the area with his scope; if he hadn't been watching her at that moment, neither of them would have reacted in time._

_ Her eyes finally met his, and he could read an apology in them. _Apology for what? Scaring the shit out of me? _She snorted softly and raised her right eyebrow, which reminded him a bit too much of himself. He usually favored his left eyebrow, but thankfully she had a thick scar over that eye which prevented her from mimicking his gestures too exactly._

_ "Not where it should have been obviously." She looked down at their joined hands. "Have you ever had to torture someone, Ian?"_

_ The question was spoken smoothly, without a hint of discomfort or judgment. "Not yet. I've stood watch while another guy did though. He was scary as hell... It's one thing to see someone beat the crap out of a guy because he's pissed off, but he was like a robot."_

_ "Beating the crap out of someone isn't really torture. It's not a great means of obtaining information unless you do it right. You can't let anger or violence get the better of you. You have to be completely detached and realize that there are limits to what even the most effective methods of persuasion can achieve. And that it can do as much damage to you as it does to the subject."_

_ "I'm not sure I'd ever want to be in that situation. No offense, but it seems like it would make me a pretty cold-hearted bastard." Ian paused, and considered his previous words. "Of course, most people would say I already am."_

_ To his surprise, that actually got her to laugh. "Most people obviously don't know you well enough then."_

_ He laughed softly with her. "Well, most people don't have crazy mind reading voodoo." She gave him an incredulous look, and he realized that was the first time he'd ever used that phrase out loud. _

_ "Voodoo?" He felt his heart warm when she smiled. "I like that. It's very... mysterious. Although I can't say I'm particularly proud of it when I have to use it the way I did this morning."_

_ "No," Ian said sardonically. "Only when you use it on me." He turned his body to face her and gently pulled their hands toward him so that they were resting in his lap instead of hers. "Don't take this the wrong way, but if it bothers you so much that it prevents you from keeping your head on straight in the field, maybe you shouldn't..."_

_ "It's not something I do often. The Colonel had a problem a few months ago with getting a prisoner to open up, so he asked me to use my 'voodoo' on him. Once in awhile, they'll ask me to do it again."_

_ "How do you even respond to that?" _

_ "You just do it, Ian. Do whatever it takes to get what you need. It's something that needs to be done, so it's something you learn to live with. Like removing a man's brain from his head from a thousand yards away."_

_ "Fair enough," Ian whispered. Now he could understand the coldness he'd seen in her eyes earlier, and suddenly realized why it had terrified him so much. He'd seen that look a few times before... in the mirror after some of the under-the-table operations he'd been involved in over the years. His thoughts were disrupted by a sense of disappointment as she finally pulled her hand free from his, only to be replaced by a surge of pleasure when she laid it on his thigh._

_ She looked into his eyes again, and he saw that they were almost entirely back to their usual unnaturally calm state. "You know you scared the hell out of me when you shot that guy, right? That was the first time I've actually seen you kill someone."_

_ "Does that bother you?" _

_ "Of course not. It's your job."_


	10. Trading Perspectives

_Because what the hell is the FBI's best fugitive hunter doing all this time while an FBI agent is in the hands of a fugitive? You'd think Ian would play_ some _kind of role here! (Yes, time constraints on television, etc. Well, luckily this isn't television) Also, __I'm aware some people probably have radically different takes on Ian's feelings regarding the torture, but this is my story based on my observations and interpretations. So there ya go._

* * *

Agent Edgerton was visibly tense as he exited the conference room and stalked over to Eppes, leaning against a cubicle wall a few feet away. He kept his features controlled, but he was sure they showed at least some of his revulsion at the necessity of what he had just done. And his bitter disappointment at the scant bit of new information that he had to show for it.

Ian could tell that he was on edge by the degree to which Eppes's posture irritated him. He looked so casual, as if nothing at all out of the ordinary had been happening behind those blinds. As if he had simply been waiting for Ian to deliver a report on the latest local crime statistics. _I'd like to see him try to look so damn relaxed about this if he'd been the one in that room. _

He shoved the piece of paper with the address Buck had written in Don's face. "They were staying in an abandoned house off of Wilshire. She's probably not there anymore." He crossed his arms guardedly over his chest while Eppes passed the note to Colby and instructed him to put together a raid team.

"He tell you where she'd go next?" Don asked shortly. Ian clenched his fists a little tighter under his arms. _Yeah, Eppes. I know exactly where Reeves is and I just want to watch you run around the city for the hell of it._ He knew Eppes's harsh tone came from his anger at the situation and disappointment that they hadn't received a more promising lead, but it still took more than his usual restraint for Ian to hold back the impulse to lash out at him for the tactless question.

His dark eyes darted past Eppes, refusing to meet Don's or even Colby's, as he answered. "If he knew, he would've told me."

He didn't wait for a response, and didn't really expect one as Colby left to grab David and get geared up with the SWAT team and Don went to check for any progress from LAPD and the State Troopers in locating his missing agent. Ian doubted they would provide them with any valuable clues, but Eppes was being driven by the simple compulsion to do something, anything, to fill the seconds that may be quickly ticking down for Agent Reeves.

Ian was grateful for their distraction; he didn't have to worry about concerned colleagues watching him as he stalked down the hall to the staff restrooms, though he noticed that people were even quicker than usual to get out of his way and no one he passed made eye contact with him. He was also quite relieved to find the room empty. He stubbornly avoided looking in the mirror as he leaned over the sink and splashed some cold water across his face. As the droplets ran down his chin and the back of his neck, Ian began scrubbing his hands. He hadn't actually gotten any blood on him – hadn't drawn any blood from Winters at all, with all of his punches concentrated on the kid's midsection – but the act was more for the sake of cleansing his mind than his hands.

Ian Edgerton was definitely no stranger to acts of violence, and this wasn't the first time he'd been forced to rough someone up for information. Because both of these facts, coupled with his infamously untamed and dangerous image, were well-known throughout the Bureau, no one ever suspected that what he did actually affected him so deeply. The Professor had once accused him of being so dispassionate that he considered killing to be a sport. Nothing could be further from the truth, but passion didn't exactly serve one well in the war-ravaged villages of Afghanistan or the crime-laden streets of Los Angeles.

He forced himself to stop scrubbing before he rubbed his hands raw. He wasn't given to compulsive behavior, and succumbing to it now would do no one any good. Finally giving in to the natural temptation to look in the mirror, Ian saw that his face looked drawn and tired, dark eyes reflecting his exasperation with this case and a bit of the apprehension he felt about what had happened, and what could be happening, to Reeves and all the other victims and potential victims of a killer he had failed to catch. He thought he looked a little pale too. _No damn wonder people were tripping over themselves to avoid me._

He dried the last of the water from his hands and face before composing his features as best he could into something less intimidating and returning to the bull pen. Granger and Sinclair were probably at the house by now, searching for any evidence to lead them closer to Reeves and Hoyle. Eppes was nowhere to be found.

At least, Agent Eppes wasn't. Ian spotted Professor Eppes standing in the middle of one of the glass conference rooms, staring forlornly at one of his white boards with one arm crossed over his chest and his other hand cupping his chin. Unexpectedly, Edgerton found himself wishing Colby was here. He hadn't realized until now how much he actually valued the understanding companionship of his fellow former Army agent, and the support he'd shown this morning in regard to what Eppes had asked him to do. He was accustomed to being alone, but _feeling_ alone wasn't something that usually bothered him.

At that moment, however, Ian Edgerton found himself standing in the middle of his favorite field office, completely alone, with an almost entirely unfamiliar longing for human contact. A memory sprang to his mind, of him reaching out for the hand of the woman who sat beside him on his bunk back in Afghanistan after a mission made possible by her torture of a Taliban prisoner, and he realized he finally understood, almost a decade late, that she had been compelled by the same need to be in the presence of a friend that he was feeling now.

_Guess the Professor will have to do. Maybe he'll use some voodoo to make me feel better._ Ian forced himself not to think anymore of another genius he had known, who had often done just that, as he made his way over to the room the mathematician was using. He was still staring daggers at the assortment of numbers on the white board, and didn't acknowledge the agent as he entered. _Damn, even the math geek looks better than I do._

With nothing better to do, Ian walked over to stand right behind the oblivious Professor, looking over his shoulder at the equations he'd drawn on the board. Another minute passed before Edgerton finally spoke. "I hope you're having better luck than I did, Professor."

Ian actually found himself smiling a little when Charlie nearly jumped out of his skin. "Ian! I didn't hear you come in." _No kidding..._ "Did you, uh... find out anything?"

He quirked an eyebrow at the obvious meaning behind the Professor's question. _He couldn't tell I was standing right behind him for two minutes, but he's aware of that?_

"Colby said you were going to... question him." Ian gave the Professor a hard look. He could tell by the way Charlie spoke about the subject that no one had told him directly what he'd done, which didn't surprise him, as it probably wasn't something Eppes wanted his baby brother to be aware of him participating in. He had to have worked it out himself, which meant he wasn't as innocent as people - Edgerton included - assumed he was.

He apparently mistook Ian's evaluating expression for one of anger, because he swallowed nervously and backed away a step. Ian was quick to soften his features for the Professor's sake, and tried not to take Charlie's reaction personally. _Who could blame him? I scare people enough when I haven't spent the morning beating up prisoners._

"I wish I could say it was worth it," Ian said softly.

"I can't believe he didn't talk!" Charlie replied. The unmasked incredulity in his voice made Ian raise his eyes back to the Professor's. "I was ready to spill my guts to you a minute ago."

Despite himself, Ian chuckled at the Professor's forthrightness. Still, he sobered quickly. "Oh, he talked. But he couldn't tell me what I needed to know." Ian was grateful that, unlike his brother, Charlie had the sense not to question how certain he was of that.

"You said he talked, so he must've told you something?"

"He gave me the address for the house they'd been staying in before we arrested him." He gave Charlie another appraising, and slightly hopeful, look. "Could you put that into a... pursuit curve or something?"

"Well... Like I told Don earlier, the pursuit curve isn't really applicable anymore. Especially since she went completely into left field when she..." Charlie looked away for a second, unable to finish that sentence, before looking back at Ian with warm, compassionate eyes. "But hey, ya know, it's always good to have more data."

Ian reflexively tensed, ever so slightly, when the Professor's hand came down on his shoulder. He didn't meet many people who had the guts to try to touch him, and didn't generally like it when they did. But right now, with the quirky Professor of all people, Ian actually found the gesture comforting. _I really must be getting soft._

Charlie gave Ian a small smile, moving his hand away as he reached past the agent to grab one of the maps strewn across the table they had been leaning on. He plucked a handful of magnets from a cup near the board and used them to pin the map over his equations. Next, he grabbed a marker and drew dots over the known locations of Crystal Hoyle's activities for the past forty-eight hours. Ian watched him in silence, always fascinated by the way the math genius worked.

The other agents might have been impressed that Charlie didn't need to consult with the files to remember the locations, but Ian barely noticed; to him, it didn't seem particularly unusual. He smirked at the odd look Charlie gave him when he supplied the address Buck had revealed to him during his "interrogation."

"You're not the only one with a good memory, Professor."

Charlie laughed. "I'm a bad influence on all of you. I've already got Colby thinking in numbers. Next thing you know, you'll be using soap bubbles every time you have to track a fugitive through the mountains."

Ian scoffed good naturedly and gave the mathematician a look of mock sternness. "My boot prints and broken tree branches serve me just fine, Professor."

"Like your instincts?"

"Yep. Those too." Ian grinned. It seemed the Professor enjoyed trading their friendly jabs as much as he did. He still felt tired and useless, but Charlie's easy acceptance had taken some of the edge off of his frustrations. "May as well give up, Professor. I'm too set in my ways for your voodoo to change the way I hunt."

Ian was concerned that his statement had actually hurt the Professor's feelings when the young man's eyes shot up to his, an almost surreal look in them as they seemed to stare right through him. "What?" When he didn't respond, Ian stepped closer and patted him lightly on the arm. "Charlie?"

"You remember what I said earlier? About how we couldn't predict Hoyle's movements because we didn't have sufficient data about how Buck's arrest would change her behavior? Well, we assumed that that factor would have a significant effect on her decision making process. What if we were wrong?"

Ian pondered that for a few seconds, keying in to the Professor's reasoning. "Whatever her motives were, they were strong enough to make her give up her entire life and run across half the country to get here."

"If she's that set in her ways..."

Their train of thought brought something Buck had said earlier straight to the forefront of Ian's mind, with a sudden clarity that he was sure he would have had at the time if his mind had not been so clouded by weariness, frustration, and fear. "Buck said Crystal wanted something from Billy Rivers. She was looking for him for a reason, and from what the kid said it sounded like more than revenge."

"If that's true, and she was that determined to find whatever it is she wants..."

"Then she's probably still looking for him. We have to get to him somehow. It's our best shot at finding Hoyle." Ian paused, feeling the momentary adrenaline rush taper off as their previous difficulty reasserted itself. "Problem with that is... we still don't know where to find him."

Charlie's eyes drifted over his white boards, waiting for a mathematical miracle to present itself. Unlike the rest of the team, Ian wasn't so smitten with Charlie's abilities as to believe it actually worked that way. _Even the voodoo has its limits. The Professor would bust my balls for saying this, but not everything in the world can be solved by math._ In this particular instance though, a convenient algorithm would be much appreciated. Even by Edgerton.

The Professor, however, seemed to be pursuing a different approach this time. "What do you do... when there are no broken tree branches?"

Ian waited for him to follow that up with one of his typical longwinded answers to his own rhetorical questions, but realized when the man looked at him that he legitimately wanted the agent's input. "Well, if I don't have a trail to follow, I usually go back to basics. What are his goals? What does he need? And where might he go to get it? If we're talking about tracking in the wilderness, those options are usually pretty limited; there are only so many sources of fresh water... or shelter. Once I get an idea of where he's gonna go, I can lay a trap."

"So... the same principle as hunting animals?"

Ian immediately realized that the similarity to a comment Charlie had made when they'd first met was unintentional, and let the irony go unspoken. "Pretty much, Professor. But how does that help us find Billy Rivers?"

"Well," the Professor began, picking up a marker and beginning to scrawl out strings of numbers that Ian knew would mean nothing to him. "What if we take the same concept – assigning values by using his most likely motivations to determine probabilistically the target's most logical actions – and apply Game Theory to select the course that will most strongly compel him to alter that behavior to benefit our investigation?"

Ian stood there, arms crossed over his chest, and pointedly looked from the Professor to the equations he had written and then back again. _No way... Can't be..._ "We figure out what he wants... and use it to lure him out of hiding so we can question him?"

For a moment, they both just stared at each other in silence. The Professor fixed Edgerton with an appraising gaze, his eyes sparkling and his mouth widening into a broad smile. Ian just looked like he wanted to crawl out of his skin.

_Dear god... I'm starting to understand his damn voodoo..._

* * *

Even with his exceptionally keen sense of awareness, Ian couldn't guess how long he had been sitting on the edge of a table in one of the FBI office's many conference rooms, watching the Professor work with his equations. He'd sent Agent Edgerton to get him all of the information they had collected on Billy Rivers, which was disappointing even considering his lengthy arrest record.

Ian assumed, based on his disturbingly intuitive understanding of the Professor's mathematical approach, that he was trying to use it to figure out what exactly the agents could use to draw Rivers out of hiding. They tossed out the idea of using him as bait again; they couldn't afford to be patient when time was of the essence. Now more than ever.

And if they pinned Hoyle into a corner, Reeves would be the first to fall in the shootout that would undoubtedly ensue. Buck had proven that the two lovers held no regard for their own lives, and would sooner go down in a blaze of glory with a few dead law enforcement agents than answer for their crimes. Only the legendary sniper's quick, well placed shot had saved Sinclair from having to kill the boy during his arrest.

Ian's eyes shot up and Charlie jumped as they heard a yell from somewhere outside their conference room. David, still wearing the bulletproof vest he'd suited up in earlier, was apparently trying to explain to a fuming Eppes the results of their search. Whatever it was, it obviously wasn't what Eppes wanted to hear. Behind the closed door and insulated glass walls, Ian couldn't make out the words Don was shouting, but his sharp eyes told him that David's patience with his boss was wearing thin.

Edgerton thought about going to intervene, but decided against it. His own patience with Don Eppes had already come dangerously close to running out, and he knew it would be foolish to get in the middle of the heated argument between him and Sinclair. Instead, he silently assigned himself a slightly more useful task: keeping the agents' harried disagreements from bothering Charlie.

"You okay, Professor?" Ian asked, gently enough so as not to rattle him any more than his brother's outburst already had, but with enough firmness to draw his focus back to their own isolated little room.

"Yeah." Charlie paused, swallowing anxiously. "Yeah, it's just... I don't think I've ever seen Don so angry."

Ian heard the slight tremble in the Professor's voice, and took another look toward Eppes. He'd finished his tirade and was apparently in the process of issuing some unfavorable new orders, leaving David rubbing at his temples and shaking his head. Edgerton subtly moved up to stand at the Professor's shoulder, angling his body to block the smaller man's view of his brother. _I used to rag on Don for sheltering him. Now look at me._ Charlie took a deep, shaky breath before returning to his equations.

They stayed that way for several minutes, the mathematician eagerly losing himself in his numbers. It didn't seem to bother him at all to have the tall, intimidating sniper looking over his shoulder, arms still crossed over his chest. _Wonder if he even realizes I'm here anymore_. He knew the Professor had a tendency to get so absorbed in his math that he completely stopped paying attention to his surroundings. At one point when they'd been hunting McHugh, Charlie had pulled out his map to do something with his soap bubbles and gotten so engrossed in it that only Ian's quick pull on the back of his jacket had kept him from going face first into a creek. Eventually, the opening of the door and a softly spoken greeting drew their attention.

Ian and Charlie turned to find Colby, face still slightly red and shining with sweat, entering the room, apparently having just removed his gear from the raid. Which, Ian could tell by the crestfallen look on his normally cheerful face, had been as unsuccessful as Don's outburst had suggested.

"Did... did you find Megan?" Charlie asked cautiously, obviously deeply worried for the missing agent, but trying not to show it. _Fleinhardt must be a mess. Gotta admit... the Professor's a good friend._

He shook his head. "No, Charlie. We found her car ditched at the abandoned house, but no sign of her." Ian knew that was actually a good sign; it meant they hadn't found a body. Granger came over to join them by the white board, looking curiously at the map and the haphazard jumble of equations. "What are you guys up to?"

"We're assigning values to determine the probabilities of Billy Rivers taking certain actions, and using Game Theory to figure out what action we should encourage to benefit our investigation." Edgerton remained completely straight faced throughout the explanation, using the same tone he did when laying out a plan to track an escaped convict.

"We're gonna hunt the bastard down and lay a trap for him!" The Professor added excitedly. Ian smirked.

Granger slowly moved his open-mouthed stare from Edgerton's face to Charlie's, and then back again, clearly believing that both of them had lost their minds. _I'm thinking in math, Granger. You can't be too far off the mark. And the Professor..._ Ian vaguely wondered if he should invite Charlie along on his next hunting trip.

Colby slowly sank into one of the chairs around the table, rubbing a hand over his eyes almost as if he were trying to ward of a hallucination. "Okay," he said slowly. "But... why are we 'hunting down' Rivers, and not Hoyle?"

"We don't have any more of a clue on where to even start looking for Hoyle than we ever did," Charlie answered bitterly. "Right now, the only possible lead we have is the guy we know they were looking for."

"Buck said she wanted something from him," Ian cut in. "It's possible she's still looking for him in order to get it. If we can get to him, he may be able to tell us what she's after." Ian paused, casting a slightly apologetic glance at Charlie for having to say this in front of him. "And in Don's current frame of mind, I'm sure he wouldn't mind having Rivers to use as extra insurance."

Granger caught Ian's meaning, but thankfully the Professor didn't seem to in this case. "Okay," Colby said slowly. "But we couldn't find him either, remember?"

"Well, that's where Agent Edgerton's hunting 'voodoo' comes in." Ian quirked an eyebrow. _My what now? _Charlie quickly outlined their plan to draw Rivers out of hiding, throwing in some of his famous analogies for Colby's benefit. "I think we've found our lure. When I was looking over his arrest record, I noticed that he's used the same attorney in... over eighty percent of these cases."

"So... we call his lawyer? Get him to bring Rivers in to talk to us?" Colby asked, glancing over to Edgerton to confirm that he was correctly understanding the Professor's reasoning, which disturbed the other agent to no end. _What am I... the voodoo expert now?_

Ian tended to resort to his sarcastic humor when he was uncomfortable, and this seemed like a good time for it. "Not even a lawyer can argue with math, eh, Professor?"

_Let's just hope "my" math doesn't let us down on this one._

* * *

_Hopefully that math stuff was fairly accurate. I understand the concepts pretty well (which scares me more than it scares Ian) but I've never studied the math itself. Ian and Charlie make such a good pair because they really do use a lot of the same ideologies in their work, even if they're different on the surface._


	11. Searching in Vain

_Had a little break from the action the last chapter. Time to start getting back on track._

* * *

When Granger had suggested that Charlie take his plan to David, the Professor had looked more concerned than Ian had ever seen him.

"Where's Don?" Charlie had asked sullenly.

"I'm not sure. He... left awhile ago." Colby had sounded as close to furious as Ian imagined the man ever got, but he seemed to be fighting to keep the emotion out of his voice to avoid completely disrespecting his boss. Especially to his little brother. "David should be at his desk. Don assigned him to look over all the reports of stolen vehicles and assaults in L.A. County for this morning."

Ian didn't even have to speak for Colby to know what he was thinking. _What the hell, Eppes? No wonder David was so damn pissed._

David had embraced their idea excitedly, probably because they were desperate and had absolutely nothing else to go on, but when their attempts to reach Don and obtain the team leader's permission had failed, Ian had taken it upon himself, as the senior-most agent, to contact defense attorney Adam Benton and secure his cooperation on behalf of his client.

Granger and Sinclair were now escorting Benton to pick up Billy Rivers, and Ian, with nothing better to do, was still keeping vigil over the somewhat distraught math genius. Usually, after sitting still for so long on a single case, Ian's nerves would be frayed and he would be itching to get back on the hunt. But, in this instance, the expert tracker just felt exhausted. _And pretty damn useless._

Ian glanced at his watch, wondering how long it would take the other two agents to grab Rivers and get back to the office. Hoyle had demanded that the hostage switch take place at 6p.m., and it was already a quarter to four. Ian was startled to realize just how many hours he'd spent simply sitting and watching Charlie work out his equations; as a sniper, he had long ago mastered the art of passing the hours doing absolutely nothing, but even his considerable patience had never extended much to the Professor's voodoo.

_Not like it did to someone else's voodoo._ Ian sighed softly, running his hand over his eyes and into his hair, trying to ignore the stress that was getting to him more than he wanted to acknowledge.

"Frustrated, huh?" Charlie warily inquired, noticing Ian's uncharacteristic display of discomfort.

The agent sighed again. "You have no idea, Professor."

* * *

_Figures_, Ian thought dreadfully when he noticed Eppes stalking his way over to Benton and Rivers as Sinclair and Granger escorted them through the bull pen to the interrogation room. He could see the desperate ire in Don's eyes, the conviction that he was going to get whatever information the man had, no matter what the cost. _He better not be expecting a repeat of this morning. Winters was one thing, but this guy..._

David looked on nervously as Eppes made one of the most tense and adrenaline-filled introductions Ian had ever witnessed. When it became clear that he was on the verge of going full-on hardass on Rivers right then and there, Edgerton finally decided it was time to intervene and keep Eppes from doing something stupid. He was grateful when Granger, who hadn't yet made it onto Don's bad side that morning, beat him to it. After a brief staredown, Don stepped aside to let David take them to interrogation and went into the adjoined observation room.

Colby, satisfied for the moment that he wouldn't be needed to play referee, briskly headed for the break room. Since Charlie had left to check up on his friend Fleinhardt, Ian sat alone in what he'd come to think of as the Professor's voodoo room, silently looking over various files pertaining to the case despite having no idea what he was hoping to gain from them. Exasperated, he shut his eyes and pushed away the psych profile he'd been reading, clenching one hand into a fist and bringing the other up to rub at his temple, hoping to ease the headache he'd felt coming on for the last hour.

He didn't notice anyone had entered the room until he caught a whiff of his favorite scent, and realized there was a steaming cup of coffee sitting in front of him. He didn't even look up to see who had given it to him, just picked it up and took a nice long gulp. He felt his headache subside a bit. _Needed caffeine I guess._

"Finally figured out what looked off about you earlier," Colby said in something much closer to his regular friendly voice than anything else he'd spoken all day. "No cup of coffee."

Ian couldn't help the smirk that broke through the intimidating gloom all over his still-tired face. "You want me to carry my rifle around too, Granger?"

The other man's short laugh confirmed that he had been among the many soldiers in Afghanistan to hear about Edgerton's reputation for always having his sniper rifle with him in the chow hall, slung over his shoulder as if it were a part of him.

"Have you talked to Don?" Colby asked after a moment.

"Not since... this morning," Ian answered. "Don't get the feeling he wants to talk about it." A quick read of the younger agent's features told him that he had grown more worried over the course of the day. "He'll deal with it, Granger. It'll hit him hard after the dust settles, but... I made sure he knew that when he made his choice." _Tried to, anyway._

"Guess you're right." He grinned at Edgerton's Why-Would-You-Ever-Doubt-That? look, but it quickly faded as he continued. "I tried to talk to him earlier. Almost got really out of line when he brushed me off again." Ian slowly drank his coffee, silently letting Colby vent his frustrations. "I mean, I want Megan back as much as anyone. But he's not helping her by cutting himself off from us, ya know?"

"Colby, Eppes is a good leader. You know that. But this case is much bigger than anything he's ever dealt with before. It's testing him. And he's afraid he'll fail. He needs you just as much as you need him right now."

Colby gave him an unabashedly stunned look, obviously not expecting such an eloquent speech from the usually quiet sniper. _What can I say, Granger? You guys bring out the best in me._ As he continued appreciatively sipping his coffee, an assistant came in and handed Colby a file, explaining that it had come in for Agent Reeves. The note on the folder identified it as an advanced background screening of murdered car salesman Pierce Brenner.

Ian looked over Colby's shoulder, skimming the information presented in the detailed investigation. They looked through Brenner's personal history, which was pretty standard for an adulterous white collar professional: business degree, married twice, two kids. He was arrested in 1984 on a misdemeanor drug charge, and again in 1992 for domestic battery, but had never been in prison. _Only because he never got caught on the statutory rape._ They had just about given up hope of finding anything useful when something in Brenner's financial history caught Ian's attention.

"That's a lot of legal fees for a guy who never even spent a night in jail," Ian noted sarcastically. He didn't need the Professor's gift with numbers to realize that the multiple deposits added up to a huge payout.

"Yeah, you're right. There's almost fifty grand in payments here." Granger flipped ahead to a list of Brenner's associates. When he found it, he had to look over the name twice to ensure that he wasn't imagining the lead for which they had been so desperately searching. "Ian, look at this."

The two agents exchanged a satisfied look. _Damn good call on bringing the lawyer in, Professor._

* * *

Ian couldn't recall a time in his life when he'd felt more impatient. It seemed it was always in the most urgent of times that the world decided to make things difficult. Time seemed to be passing at about half of its normal rate, and yet he felt like he was being constricted by not having enough of it. The sniper's demeanor was calm, his heart rate steady, his muscles carefully controlled. But he was having an exceptionally difficult time tamping down the anxiety building up inside him. The fatigue from the morning's events was still there, but it was gradually being pushed aside as his natural inclinations as a hunter reasserted themselves.

At this particular moment, however, all of Ian's attention was commanded by his current task, which was taking so long that it was actually making him twitchy. _Easy there, Edgerton. Can't afford to lose your head now. Won't do anybody any good. God, I really am an addict._ Ian sighed with relief, allowing a satisfied grin to chase away some of the lingering fatigue still evident in his usually stoic countenance, as he poured himself a cup of his freshly brewed coffee. Granger had been right that it was what he needed; his headache was gone and he felt much more like himself. _Of course, the pot _would_ be empty when I come in here to get more._

Just as he finished his cup, a loud bang from across the bull pen drew the sniper's attention. _Let me guess... Eppes._ By the time he had turned to search for the source of the noise, Don was literally dragging Billy Rivers across the office in handcuffs, with his attorney trailing behind them shouting threats at the agents. When Benton made the mistake of grabbing Eppes by the arm, Ian expected the worst. He hastily made his way out of the break room and toward the tense scene as Don made a show of deliberately handing Rivers off to David and ordering him to take the man to lock up.

For one brief moment, Ian and Colby, who had now joined him with the Professor in tow, thought that Eppes would hear out the lawyer's complaints without conflict. In the blink of an eye, they realized how foolish those hopes were. Don lunged at Benton, pinning him by the neck up against the glass wall of one of the office conference rooms.

"I don't give a damn about whatever it is you're hiding!" the infuriated agent shouted in Benton's face. "But if you're withholding the information that will save my agent's _life_, I promise you won't have to worry about paying for it, because you'll be getting a needle in your arm as an accessory to the murder of a federal agent!" To emphasize the last words, Don pushed his arm tighter against the terrified attorney's neck.

"That's enough, Don!" Granger forcefully told his boss as he moved to separate the two. When the Professor tried to follow after him, either out of habit or with the intention of trying to calm his brother down, Ian put a firm hand on his shoulder and warned him to stay out of it. He told himself it was simply because they didn't need a civilian involved in a fight, but some small part of him, seeing the uncontrolled rage in Don's eyes, honestly feared that he would hurt his brother. _Got enough shit on my conscience. Don't need that added to it._

"Stay out of this, Colby!" Eppes said coldly as Granger approached him.

His anger imbued him with the considerable strength needed to resist Colby's attempt to pull him away; the young agent was built like a tank, but in this case Don had the advantage of positioning, as well as motivation. It took the combined efforts of the two former soldiers to restrain him. When Colby bent back Don's free arm, Ian used the opportunity to insert himself between him and Benton, roughly forcing them apart.

Once they'd gotten Don reasonably well under control, Granger hastily escorted Benton out of the building. _Be nice if the bastard actually gave us something after all that._ Ian felt Eppes sag against his strong hold as his anger subsided. The other agent stared at the floor and said nothing as he let Edgerton lead him toward the ward room, away from all the stunned and curious eyes in the office.

As they passed by Charlie, still standing in shock at the scene he had just witnessed, Don raised his eyes briefly to meet his brother's, immediately looking away in shame when he recognized the fear and disappointment in them. _No need to lecture him. Pretty sure the look on the Professor's face just said it all._ Ian felt a rare and unsettling measure of sympathy for the two Eppes brothers.

Once they were alone, Ian didn't immediately release his hold on Eppes. Not because he was afraid of any further outbursts, but as a gesture of comfort that was equally rare for him as his feelings of compassion.

"Feel better, Eppes?"

"Why would I? I'm no closer to finding Megan than I was the minute she went missing."

Don pulled away from the sniper, staggering over to take a seat on a nearby table. He put his feet on a chair and buried his face in his hands, trying to curl up and hide himself away from the world. Ian, knowing he had no words to assuage the fears of the distraught agent and recognizing that he wanted to be left alone, reached over to give his shoulder a light squeeze before turning and silently leaving the room.

* * *

As he walked across the bull pen, Agent Edgerton felt as though he were in a fog, isolated from everyone and everything as the guilt he felt over this whole case again started to tear away at the barriers between his mind and his emotions. Without any regard for who might notice, Ian screwed his eyes shut against the wave of pain that washed over him at the words that drifted up from his memory.

_"No man can hold the weight of the world on his shoulders, until he realizes that he already does."_

* * *

_Two Daughters has a lot of time passing with nothing actually happening with the agents. Don is nowhere to be found until he goes off on Rivers, leaving David randomly in charge (though he disappears a few times too), and Ian is just completely gone during this entire time. I don't think he appears at all between exiting the room after interrogating Buck and the scene that will come next, with Charlie explaining the boats in the fog bank. There are so many gaps in this part of the storyline that it doesn't feel like there's enough for me to go off of. Guess what I'm trying to say is, sorry if these past two chapters feel a bit random._


	12. Wrestling With Our Choices

_You ever make something to eat, and it's annoying because it's too much for one meal, but not enough for two? Yeah, that is this chapter. When you watch the episode bits at a time scrutinizing every detail to write about it, you notice things. Like how weird the timing is. In the scene where Don interrogates Rivers, he says he has "an agent four or five hours away from being killed," which presumably refers to the 6 o'clock deadline. However, as shown by a clock a few scenes later, they find Megan just after 5:45. So I've been going off my own timeline for the most part._

_Oh, and prepare your tear ducts. There will be feels._

* * *

"Where's Don?"

Ian raised his deep, tired brown eyes to look into Granger's troubled green ones. The young agent had shown a great deal of concern for his team leader since he'd seen Eppes storm out of the room after watching the footage of Hoyle tailing Reeves as she left the office, and even more so since Don's decision to have Edgerton torment her teenage accomplice for information regarding her location.

Which, of course, he had failed to provide. _Not surprising. My luck on this case ran out a long time ago._

"Ward room," Ian quietly answered. He noticed Granger's eyes flicking toward the clock on the wall every few seconds, an unwelcome reminder that their time was quickly running out. Ian watched as the junior agent paced the room, angry and agitated at the whole situation and especially at how little he could do about it, sighing and rubbing at the back of his neck. He could see the fear in Colby's eyes, for Reeves and for Eppes, and felt a strange urge to say something reassuring.

After a few seconds of trying to come up with something to say, Ian realized that he had already used up all of his reassuring words throughout the day. Without any other course of action, the sniper did what came naturally to him: he sat, unmoving, expression bereft of any emotion, and observed in silence.

Granger continued his pacing for a few more moments, probably burning off the last of the adrenaline rush that had hit him during the incident with Eppes, and then wearily made his way over to the coffee machine. Ian raised an eyebrow when Colby wordlessly grabbed his cup to refill it before fixing his own and joining the older agent at the small table.

The two of them remained silent for several minutes, sipping at their steaming beverages, until Granger suddenly spoke.

"You ever wonder if it's all worth it?"

"What?" Ian instantly grew concerned, knowing from experience that it was never good when people started talking like that.

Colby shook his head. "No matter how hard we try, there's always gonna be more bad guys. More pointless violence. Sometimes it feels like we're just fighting for a useless cause, and I'm just so damn tired of seeing people die for it."

Ian wanted to say that no one had died yet today, but those words sounded hollow even in his own mind. _I'd have to ask the Professor to be sure, but I'd guess the odds are not in Reeves's favor by this point._ Another glance at the clock reaffirmed this. And Ian knew that Granger wasn't really talking about this case anyway.

"It is what it is, Granger." He gulped down the rest of his coffee, forcing it past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. Colby's words had brought back the memories he had been fighting all day to suppress, and a few of the more graphic ones were now joining the bittersweet recollections of the woman he loved.

_Hell, why does this keep happening?_ Ian knew he couldn't afford, especially today, to let those memories get the best of him. _You're alive, she's not. It is what it is._ He imagined that he was holding his rifle in his hands, taking aim at a target, letting his sniper's instincts take over and ease his mind into a state of practiced clarity.

Just for good measure, he took a deep, calming breath before speaking again. "Come on, Granger. We'd better make sure Eppes isn't flogging himself too hard."

There was a slightly awkward moment when they both reached for the coffee pot to refill their cups again before leaving. _What the hell is it with us and bonding over coffee?_

* * *

As Ian and Colby approached the ward room, they learned that they weren't the first to go check on Eppes. Before they even entered, they could tell that Charlie was doing his rapid fire math speak, gesturing wildly at the map behind him. Whatever he was trying to explain, his brother didn't exactly appear to be sold on it. _Somehow, I don't think Eppes is really in the mood for voodoo right now._

As they reached the doorway, Ian exchanged an exasperated look with Granger. They were both keenly aware that they were quickly running out of time; it was unlikely that Hoyle would actually show up to make the hostage switch, and it was also unlikely that she would keep Reeves alive past the deadline. Ian's own words came back to haunt him: _"Too crazy to care, smart enough not to get caught."_

The two of them walked in just in time to catch the tail end of the Professor's lesson, which was something about boats on the ocean. _Great. More analogies._ Ian reconsidered his earlier discomfort at actually understanding the concepts behind the Professor's jargon; at least it meant he didn't have to listen to his whole condescending explanation of whatever theorem or algorithm they were using.

"The solution to the problem," he was saying, " is to assume that the slower boat has turned around, and is heading back toward it."

"Why the hell would she do that?" Ian asked disbelievingly.

"She wouldn't. The beauty of the solution is: it doesn't matter." The Professor grabbed a stylus and started carefully writing equations over the map of the greater Los Angeles area that was displayed on the screen. "Using the last known location of the missing boat as an origin point, we... spiral out, intersect with the smaller boat before completing the full turn.

"Crystal took Megan from here at approximately 4:45 a.m.," Charlie continued, placing a dot over the location of the diner where Reeves had been abducted. "She then contacted you and discarded Megan's phone here at 6:50 a.m."

Ian briefly glanced over at Granger, wondering if the other agent had grasped the relevance of the Professor's explanation. _Because I sure as hell haven't._ Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Granger returning his look before they both went back to pretending to pay attention to Charlie.

"Shortly afterward," the mathematician drawled on as if he were addressing a group of exuberant graduate students, "she and Megan headed back here, where we found Megan's car."

Ian had observed that no one, except for him, ever voiced any doubts about the Professor's math, particularly in the presence of his protective older brother. He was just about to take the initiative and say what they were all thinking when Colby, surprisingly, beat him to it.

"Charlie, this isn't the open ocean though. This is a city."

"Right, right." Charlie conceded. "No we have to consider variegated terrain. And a considerable time gap. Compensate for the time lag, add overlapping search spirals to maximize the area covered..."

"Is anyone else following this?" Ian muttered.

"Just nod your head and wait for the punchline," Colby answered dryly. Ian nodded slightly and raised his eyebrows in agreement as he took a large sip of his coffee.

"The 'punchline,'" Charlie continued indignantly, "is something like... this." He drew a line spiraling out from a central point, intersecting with all three of Hoyle's known locations.

Ian was no math genius, but he knew enough about search techniques to be skeptical of the effectiveness of the Professor's solution. He was making a lot of assumptions with little or no justification, and it would take a great deal of luck for them to find Reeves, even in such a small area, with their limited time and manpower.

He could tell Granger was thinking the same thing as Don printed out two copies of Charlie's search pattern and ordered them all to head down to the garage.

"Ian, you're with me." Eppes didn't wait for a response, and Ian noticed that he also pointedly ignored Colby's concerned look. While the junior agent pulled out his phone to call Sinclair, Edgerton trained his sharp eyes on Don. To say the man was tense would be an understatement; he looked worse than Ian had after his interrogation of Buck Winters.

Which, Ian suspected, was part of the reason Eppes chose him to be his partner. Colby or David would have tried to talk about things, if only to lift their boss's spirits. But he knew he could trust Ian not to discuss it; the quiet sniper was the type to keep the psychological repercussions of those events locked up until the dust settled and then take his time permanently burying them.

Just like Don.

* * *

Most of their search was conducted in silence, save for the necessary communication of navigating from the map the Professor had given them and calling in their movements to Command. Following Charlie's spiral search pattern proved to be more difficult than they'd planned; it wasn't particularly easy to travel in a circle on roadways arranged in a grid. They had taken turn after turn, intersecting various major streets, with no sign of suspicious activity. _Not that I'm surprised..._

Don called in yet another turn, and finally decided to voice his own doubts about his brother's boat pattern. "We could cross their path and not even know it."

Ian was pretty sure the comment was rhetorical, but decided to respond anyway. "Beats the hell out of sitting around the office waiting for Hoyle to make the next move."

After doing that for nearly twelve straight hours, they were all grateful for the chance to at least try to do something useful, even if it was so farfetched that none of them really believed it stood a chance in hell of working. Within a few moments, their silence was once again broken when the dispatcher announced a report of gunshots at a nearby motel.

Ian quickly scanned the map. "3rd and Bixel. Right in the middle of the Professor's map."

"Colby and David are only a few blocks away." Don hit the sirens and punched the accelerator. They had no reason to believe that these shots had been fired by Crystal Hoyle, but they also had no reason not to. And Don knew his team well enough to be sure that they had immediately decided to respond to the report, no matter how slim the chances that they would find Reeves.

* * *

Ian didn't believe anyone could appreciate the nuances of a warzone until he'd been in one; it wasn't the impending danger of the bullets whizzing past a soldier's head that drove him crazy. It was the perpetual symphony of warfare. The dull staccato of automatic weapons fire and the thunderous bellow of ordnance as the sounds bounced and echoed all around. One who had never been there might assume that those sounds were lost in the cacophony of onomatopoeia that was a constant in a large, active city.

But Edgerton _had_ been there. And, as hard as he'd tried, there were some things a soldier could never forget. Like the muffled roar of a grenade going off a block or two away.

Don glanced over to him, concerned, when Ian's head shot up from the map to look toward their destination. Everything about him told Don that something was wrong; the sudden alertness in his dark eyes, the frozen stiffness in his muscles, and especially the way he had automatically reached to his shoulder for a rifle that wasn't there.

Don was just about to ask what had prompted Ian's reaction when he turned the last corner and saw the flaming remnants of the sedan Colby and David had been driving. For a second, the two senior agents felt a sense of cold dread at the sight before them. _If she caught them by surprise..._

Edgerton caught movement behind a small brick garden fixture, and allowed himself a small sigh of relief when he confirmed that the other two agents had had time to get to cover. In seconds, he and Eppes were out of their SUV, guns drawn, meeting up with Colby and David to advance on the scene.

"They're up there!" David shouted to them. "Second floor! Room 15."

Ian felt his pulse quicken as the four agents carefully climbed the stairs to the second story. He told himself it was the excitement of finally catching up with Hoyle, but he knew it was at least partly from the anticipation of finding Reeves. _Alive and in one piece, with any luck._

As they passed by the shattered window, Ian cautiously glanced inside, looking for shadows or any other sign of movement, but saw nothing. _Doesn't mean she isn't there._ As Eppes moved through the door, Ian silently cursed himself for being startled at Don's immediate reaction. Without regard for their safety, the team leader dropped to his knees, laid down his weapon, and grabbed for a towel on the bed to wrap the bleeding wound on the unconscious Reeves's arm.

"Oh, hey. She's cut, guys! Megan, Megan can you hear me? She's cut bad. It looks like an artery."

Ian registered Don's words, but didn't react to them. He was too busy doing his job and making sure the damn room was actually clear. _What the hell, Eppes? Has he ever heard of an ambush?_ As cold as it was, Ian had seen far too many soldiers die gruesome and horrible – and entirely avoidable – deaths because their buddies had been used as bait. He was reminded of Granger's earlier words, about their way of operating being irrevocably different from the other agents.

Those words had not been empty either. Ian, despite his usual propensity for working alone, was relieved to sense Colby at his back, covering him as they cleared the room. He knew that the young agent wanted to be over there with Eppes and Sinclair, tending to their friend, but Granger had the training, and discipline, to put that urge aside to make sure the area was secure. _Yep, some instincts never leave you. Even when you want them to._

He vaguely heard Don calling Megan's name as he moved to the back window and caught sight of a car pulling away through the alley behind the motel. _Dammit, I don't have the keys._

He nodded at Granger, stationed just outside the door, before turning to Eppes. "Silver Pontiac," he reported tersely. "I need to take the vehicle."

Eppes looked up at him with an expression somewhere between shock and anger, with just a hint of betrayal. And plenty of fear. "No no no no no. We gotta get her to a hospital. She's bleeding out here. She doesn't have much time."

Don and David started to lift her, and Colby, ever the diplomat, at least had the courtesy to give him a somewhat apologetic look before preceding them out of the room to get the car door.

"LAPD will be here in two minutes," Ian reminded them harshly. "She's getting away!"

"She doesn't have two minutes!" David shouted at him. Ian had to bite his tongue to hold back a cold retort. Admittedly, he wasn't a medic, but he had seen enough knife wounds to be pretty damn sure that this one wasn't that bad. He was right that Hoyle had only cut Reeves to provide a distraction, luckily for an escape rather than an attack. If she'd intended to kill, Reeves would already be dead. _Along with the rest of us, most likely._

_And hell, this isn't a damn village in Afghanistan. There probably isn't a single location in L.A. that's more than a ten minute drive from a trauma center!_

Ian took several deep breaths, reigning in his anger, as he watched the team load Reeves into the back of the SUV. None of them bothered to say a word to him, to make sure he would handle the situation when LAPD arrived. They didn't invite him along either, though he noticed Colby briefly meet his eyes as he jumped into the passenger seat next to David, who pulled out of the lot the second Granger closed the door.

_"Part of the team" my ass._

* * *

"Edgerton," Ian snapped as he answered his cell phone, his harsh tone startling a young LAPD officer standing a few feet away. They were canvassing the area around the hotel, collecting witness accounts and looking for anyone, alive or otherwise, who may have crossed Hoyle's path.

"Any luck?"

Ian chuckled humorlessly. "That would be too easy, wouldn't it, Granger? No, by the time LAPD got patrols set up in the area we'd already lost her trail. CSI's processing the motel room, but I doubt Hoyle left us anything to find."

"Don't suppose you got a look at the license plate?" Ian noticed that Colby was speaking softly, which likely meant he was still at the hospital.

"Already put an APB out on it. But if she sticks to her old tricks, she's probably switched cars again by now." Ian paused for a brief moment, then added, "How's Reeves?"

To his credit, Granger knew better than to make any snide remarks about Ian's seemingly sudden interest in her welfare. He didn't take Colby for that type of guy, but if he'd learned anything on this case, it was that you couldn't always predict someone's behavior based on what you knew of their personality. _Wonder what the Professor would say to that one._

"She needed a small transfusion, and she got a nasty bump on the head, but the doctors said she'll be fine." _Thought so..._

Ian gestured to one of the officers to let them know he was leaving, and then headed for the street. He'd considered asking for a ride, but didn't want to pull any of them off their assignments for his convenience. The FBI office was only a little under two miles away, and a nice walk would help him clear his head after the hell of a long day he'd just had.

Ian knew his next question was going to make him seem like the cold hearted bastard everyone thought he was, but he asked it anyway. "She get anything from Hoyle?"

"Yeah," Colby answered grimly. "We know what she wanted from Billy Rivers."

"Which is?"

"Her daughter." That made Ian stop in his tracks.

"... her what?"

Ian resumed his walking, but stayed silent as Colby recounted what they'd learned from Reeves. _Well, that sure as hell explains a lot._ He automatically started readjusting his mental analysis of her inner workings, and grimaced at the parallel to the Professor and his algorithms. For the first time, Ian acknowledged that Charlie had been truthful about the similarity of their work.

Colby had just finished his explanation of Adam Benton's probable involvement when Ian overheard Eppes call his agent's name. "Gotta go. I'll keep you informed."

The line disconnected, and Ian wondered if Colby had said that because he knew something Ian didn't. Was Eppes so upset with him about Reeves that he wouldn't even show the professional courtesy of keeping Ian involved in what had started out as his own case?

He tried to dismiss the concern immediately; he and Eppes had disagreed before, and they'd managed to work it out. But it nagged at the back of Ian's mind as he continued his solitary walk through the streets of L.A. He was less than a mile from his destination by the time he had forced that irritating thought out of his head.

As he passed a small café and the air was suddenly filled with the delicious smell of food, Ian's stomach rumbled at a volume that would have been embarrassing had anyone else been around. He was considering stopping for a quick dinner when he noticed the first few drops of rain hitting the sidewalk. _Of course. _He had spent enough time in the Southwest to know that the expression "When it rains, it pours" had probably originated there.

Coming to a quick decision, Ian pulled open the door to the restaurant and tried to look non-threatening as he hurried inside. It took some effort; threatening was generally his default appearance even on a good day. He ordered a turkey sandwich, with an extra large coffee, and automatically selected a table that was near the front, against the side wall, with a good view of both the inside and outside of the building.

His decision proved to be a good one; he hadn't even finished half his sandwich before he glanced out the window and noticed a heavy rain pelting the ground. He was just debating whether he should hang out for a bit after he was done and hope the rain would let up when he saw a familiar figure come through the door.

"Eppes," Ian said before he could think about trying to go unnoticed. The other agent, obviously surprised to see him, gave him a weary nod as he stepped up to order his own sandwich. Ian turned his attention to his coffee, as seemed to be the common way of dealing with awkwardness around here, until he felt Don slowly approach his table and ask to join him.

Apparently he wasn't the only one who hadn't eaten all day; Eppes inhaled a good third of his meal before pausing to speak. "Got enough coffee there?"

"I never have enough coffee," Ian answered, a bit more tersely than he intended. He amended, more amicably, "Granger called earlier. Good to know Reeves is gonna be okay."

"Yeah," Don replied tiredly. _Don't need any mind reading voodoo to know this whole thing has taken a hell of a toll on him._ He took a long sip of his drink before raising his eyes to meet Edgerton's. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Being here." Ian searched Don's eyes for a moment, looking for the meaning behind that vague answer. Ian never particularly considered Eppes to be a man of few words, but that was probably because he was far worse himself, making the other man seem much more open by comparison.

After a few moments without a response, Don decided to elaborate. "I know I didn't exactly hold it together real well on this case, Ian, especially when I started... crossing lines. You did. You and Colby." He paused, smiling. "Boy, I don't know what they do to you guys in the military, but maybe I need some of it myself."

Ian snorted. "Trust me, Eppes. No one needs that." _Speaking of Afghanistan and things that no one needs, I wonder if he's ready to talk about this morning._ Ian knew Agent Don Eppes to be the type of guy who needed to talk out his moral dilemmas, even if he wouldn't admit it. And, though he didn't really expect it to be him that Don eventually broke down and talked to, Ian was still concerned for his friend.

"How did you get here anyway? I know you didn't have a car." Despite the argument they'd had on that subject, they both chuckled, letting the light conversation ease away all the anxiety and tension the day had brought.

"I walked. Being a native of L.A., you may not be familiar with that concept."

"Hey," Eppes responded, laughing, "I did my fair share of walking, and running my ass off, in my Fugitive Recovery days."

Ian smirked, and they both finished their meals in silence. "You want a ride back to the office, or you planning on finishing your stroll?"

Edgerton rolled his eyes. _Now he offers me a car._

* * *

_ He'd stayed almost completely silent through the entire horrible debriefing, only offering a "Yes, sir" or "No, sir" when necessary, without showing the slightest hint of emotion. And, in retrospect, he was pretty sure that was when the rumors about him being a sociopath had started. In a fog, he made his way back to his room, sat on his bunk, and cleaned his rifle. The rifle that he'd used to murder an innocent man._

_ As he laid the rifle back into its case, he noticed his hands were shaking. It was slight, but it was also terrifying. His hands never shook. He clenched them into tight fists as he willed the roiling emotions deeper into the dark crevasse of his mind that he used to keep them buried. His breaths were shaky now too, and he let his face fall into his hands, trying to hide away from the world and the knowledge of what he'd done. In his long career, he had taken countless lives, none of them innocent. Until today._

_ Ian didn't realize how completely shut out he'd been from his surroundings until he gasped and started as a pair of arms wrapped themselves around him, hands resting lightly on his chest, and a warm, decidedly feminine body pressed against his back. _I can't... I can't face her. Not after this. She has to know.

_Despite her position, Ian didn't even consider blaming her. Their enemies had been carefully feeding them bogus intel, setting up a decoy so that their real leader could escape deeper into hiding. With her gifted mind, Ian had no doubt that she had been the one to notice something was off and piece together the inconsistencies. And, if he knew her, she was probably blaming herself for not finding it in time to prevent her best friend from becoming the cold blooded killer everyone condemned him as._

_ He felt her lay her head against the back of his shoulder, and tentatively raised his hands to hers. "I'm so sorry, Ian," she whispered. _

_ "You weren't the one who told me to pull the trigger." That was what angered him most of all. The spooks had known damn well that they'd made a mistake, but had hesitated in coming forward and admitting it. She was probably arguing with her superiors at the exact moment he was receiving confirmation to take the kill shot. He could see the victim's - _his_ victim's - face, lined up in his scope, feel the minute kick of the rifle against his shoulder as he ended the man's life._

_ And then the tears finally began to fall, the guilt consuming him like a slow burning flame. Ian could recall only a handful of times in his life that he had cried, and never in front of someone. His whole body – his whole being – felt entirely numb, but he still registered the sharp pain in his heart as she pulled away from him. He hadn't realized the comfort he'd been drawing from her presence until it was no longer there. For one heart wrenching moment, he expected the worst._

_ And then she was kneeling in front of him, gently cupping his face and raising his head to look at her. Her calm ocean blue eyes never left his as she wiped the tears from his cheeks._

_ "I know it's hard, Ian, but you can't blame yourself for this. You may have fired the bullet, but you were not responsible for that prisoner's death." He opened his mouth to contradict her, but she preempted him when she added, in a slow and deliberate tone, "The people who used him are."_

_ She moved a bit closer to him, sliding one hand back to slowly stroke through his hair, a gesture that she knew he found calming. "I know you don't think you can deal with this, Ian. But you can. I know you can, because you do it every day. You hold people's lives in your hands every time you go out on the field. But that's never bothered you because you've never failed. Now you have, at least in your mind, and that terrifies you."_

_ Ian tried to look away, irrationally ashamed at the truth of her words, but she stopped him. "And there is nothing wrong with that. You may be famous around here for being a god, but I know better. You're a man. And no man can hold the weight of the world on his shoulders, until he realizes that he already does. You are stronger for this, Ian."_

_ The sniper tried to speak, tried to answer her wise words with some of his own, but his throat had tightened from his tears and the storm of emotions raging inside him, so he simply nodded, knowing she would see the impact of her words whether he voiced it or not. But there was one thing he had to tell her. _

_ He leaned down to rest his forehead lightly against hers, her hand still running through his hair. They stayed that way for moments that stretched into an eternity, until he finally found the courage to admit the feelings he had been desperately keeping hidden._

_ "I love you," he whispered. When she didn't respond, he worriedly pulled back to look at her, only to find that she was smirking at him._

_ "No kidding," she said, rolling her eyes. _

_ Ian didn't have time to respond to that before he felt her lips press firmly against his. They were softer and more tender than he'd ever imagined, and as he got over his shock and started to kiss her back he could feel a pleasant warmth spread through him, soothing away the anguish of the day's events. _

_ A gentle push on his shoulder and Ian was lying back on his bed with the woman he loved on top of him, sharing another passionate kiss. The thought briefly occurred to him that they were breaking quite a few regulations, but he didn't give a damn. She was playing with the hair at the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. He was far too distracted to be consciously aware of what his hands were doing, but he could tell that her body was being pressed against his by more than just gravity._

_ Ian felt her smirk right before she ran the tip of her tongue tantalizingly along his bottom lip, drawing a soft groan from him. He'd always mocked her perceptiveness, but now she was using it to drive him crazy in the best possible way. His heart was racing, his whole body delighting in the blissful pleasure of everything she was doing to him. After another long and sensuous kiss, Ian was profoundly disappointed when she pulled away, sitting up so that she was straddling him. _

_ "You thought I would reject you." It wasn't a question. And it was true; Ian had always considered his feelings for her, as true as they were, to be something she could never return to the same degree. Sensing that Ian had no idea what to say to that, she continued, "You know, some women _like_ older men." _

_ Her tone was teasing, but Ian could tell that she understood and respected the many reasons for his hesitation. "Why the hell didn't you say something?"_

_ "You're adorable when you're flustered." She leaned down to kiss him again, but kept her hands on his chest. Ian's heart pounded furiously when he realized that she was unbuttoning his shirt. Emboldened by her earlier admission, he deepened their kiss, teasing her mouth open with his tongue and gasping when it met hers. He bit back another groan when her hands finally worked their way under his uniform to caress his skin._

_ He wrapped his arms around her before shifting himself to flip her over, reversing their positions and using his weight to pin her to the bed. He broke their heated kiss just long enough to allow her to pull his undershirt over his head and toss it aside. Her hands were all over him, wandering over his arms, his chest, his shoulders, onto his back, and into his hair as his kisses grew more desperate._

_ Somewhere, deep in the back of his unconscious mind, it occurred to him that his bunk wasn't big enough to roll her over the way he just had and that the blankets he now had a firm grip on hadn't been there before. But none of it seemed important. He stood to pull off his jeans, removing his holstered service pistol from his belt and sticking it in the drawer next to the Bible. He felt a hand reach up to his back and pull out his handcuffs._

_ "Can't wait to see me in these, can you?" Ian froze, every muscle in his body tensing at the familiar female voice. "Course if you had your way I'd get a bullet instead. Just like Buck."_

_He turned, and found Crystal Hoyle lying on her side on the hotel room bed. Holding a knife to his lover's neck. In the distance, he heard two sounds that did not quite fit together in his mind: the slamming of car doors punctuated by the clack, clack, clack of a grenade bouncing across the ground. His instincts screamed at him to move, to do _something_, but he couldn't. He could only watch in horrifying slow motion as Hoyle dragged the knife across her hostage's throat._

* * *

Agent Ian Edgerton bolted upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat, heart racing and blood pounding in his ears, shouting his lover's name. In an instant, the rush of terror and adrenaline faded and his alert mind took in his surroundings. For once, he felt incredibly unnerved by finding himself in a strange hotel room. As the distorted partial memories of his nightmare were replaced by his actual recollections, Ian felt no less sick than he had moments earlier.

A quick glance at his gun and badge, resting on the bedside table where he'd left them before settling in for the night, banished any lingering doubts about the reality of his disturbing dream. Ian didn't have nightmares as often as he thought he probably should, with all the things he saw in his daily life, and when he did they usually didn't bother him too much. But even during its most disturbed times, his unconscious mind had never plagued him with such nightmarish perversions of his actual memories.

It appalled many people that Ian Edgerton had no trouble falling asleep at night; he could put a bullet in a man's brain from a thousand yards away and sleep perfectly fine. But as he lay back down, heart aching and muscles still tense, Ian knew that he would not be falling asleep so easily anytime soon. Ian felt the sting of tears behind his eyelids and scrunched them shut tighter, as if by doing so he could banish the turbulent storm of emotions building within him, threatening to shatter the ever-present barriers that always kept them so strictly confined.

_I love you, Ev. I'm so sorry._

* * *

_Okay, maybe not Bawl Your Eyes Out feels, but still more feels than I usually like to write. For now, I will leave it to your imagination how much of Ian's dream actually happened. Poor guy._


	13. Saying a Final Farewell

_A/N: This turned into another super long chapter (partly because of all the time spent in Ian's head), but I really wanted to wrap up Two Daughters and move on. Enjoy. _

* * *

By morning, there was no trace left in Agent Ian Edgerton of the harrowing day and torturous night he'd had. After what felt like an eternity just lying in bed, unable to even consider sleep after his horrific nightmare and the painful emotions it had stirred, Ian had abandoned the effort entirely and taken one of the longest showers of his life. Letting the warm water envelope him and rinse him clean of the physical manifestations of the day's exertions had been an exceptionally cathartic experience. It also had the benefit of loosening muscles that had grown tense and sore from a combination of stress and agitation.

But more importantly, it had served to clear his mind. Not only of the ghosts of his nightmares, but also the gnawing sense of remorse that had seeped through his emotional barriers and into his thoughts during this case. The impact of Reeves's abduction, and everything that came after it, had taken a concerning level of effort to hide from the rest of the team.

Edgerton was an expert at keeping a cool head in a crisis; he knew better than most that letting desperation cloud his judgment, as Eppes undeniably had, would serve only to distract him. As soon as the danger had passed, however, all of the horrifying potential outcomes of the day's events - and what he had done to prevent them - had hit him full force. _If she'd been killed by _my_ fugitive... _

Ian consciously pulled his attention firmly back to the present, paying more attention to the road in front of him and banishing the Could-Have-Been's from his mind. Left unchecked, those feelings were a hindrance, even a danger. Rather than becoming distracted by them, he let his guilt spur him to continue the hunt. The sooner Hoyle was dealt with - in whatever meaning of the phrase should come to pass - the fewer people would get caught in the path of her deadly search for the child she had given up at birth.

As he continued his drive to the FBI office, Ian mulled over what Granger had told him about Crystal Hoyle's motives; she had come to Los Angeles not just for revenge against the people who had hurt her, but also, in her mind, to reclaim something that had been stolen from her. Parenthood was a foreign concept to Ian Edgerton, but the indescribable agony of having the most beloved thing in the world ripped away was all too familiar.

In a moment that reminded him so painfully of his own lost love, Ian found himself looking in on his own mind, his own psyche, and realizing that he was finally beginning to understand the strange dichotomy of his emotional attachment to this case. Though he'd only vaguely acknowledged it, the similarity of Eppes's position to his own past had been obvious. But now he wondered if some part of his subconscious mind had identified a sort of connection between himself and Hoyle as well.

After losing Evelyn, he had run away from himself. Not only in his mind - where he had locked away every emotion, every memory that he even tentatively associated with her – but in his life as well. He'd abandoned his laudable career in the Army and joined the FBI, hoping for a fresh start with a clean slate. Or at least as clean as one could get after seeing so much war.

No one ever questioned why he'd instantly been drawn to Fugitive Recovery, with his background and personality, but Ian had never denied to himself the almost narcotic way that maintaining the greatest possible distance from society had helped to quell his pain and guilt and every other psychological scar he'd accumulated in his troubled life. And, if pressed, he couldn't honestly be sure how far he would be willing to go for revenge if someone wronged him.

Ian could recall many times when he'd watched the woman he loved stay for hours in one spot, unmoving, staring into the distance while she wandered inside her own head. Being a sniper, Ian didn't find that nearly as peculiar as most people would, but he had often wondered how she didn't drive herself crazy analyzing and evaluating all the things she had seen and done in her life. There was plenty about her past that she refused to acknowledge, but she never seemed to completely bury it the way he did. Now he found himself taking a few tentative steps along that same path, for the sake of better understanding one of the most dangerous fugitives he had ever hunted.

_First I start to pick up on the Professor's math, now I'm using Ev's mind reading voodoo. Next I'll be talking in space metaphors like that Fleinhardt guy._

Deciding that it would be best to save any more introspection for a later time, Ian shifted his thoughts to his hunting strategies. They would be much more effective now that he had a solid understanding of Hoyle's actual goal. There were only so many ways she could seek information about her daughter, and they had already eliminated the biggest one by arresting Rivers. Unfortunately, that also meant that he could no longer be used as bait.

They had yet to get any additional information from Rivers, who was hiding behind his scumbag attorney and spouting threats of lawsuits. And, without any further leads, they were still attempting to fully answer all of the questions that had been raised by the previous day's revelations. One question in particular nagged at Ian: If Hoyle knew that the FBI wouldn't release Buck, why had she bothered with abducting Reeves? If anything, it seemed an unusually foolish move for a fugitive who had, thus far, been particularly smart about eluding her pursuers.

_Particularly smart... and particularly lucky. _Edgerton was more than ready to see Hoyle's luck finally run out.

* * *

Ian wasn't surprised to see Eppes pull in to the FBI's parking garage right behind him, despite the fact that it was well past the time the team leader was supposed to be at the office. _He probably got even less sleep than I did._ That was one of his favorite aspects of fugitive hunting: he didn't have to adhere to a monotonous daily schedule. Edgerton valued routine – an unmistakable indication of his military background - and held to a few personal habits that were strict, even compulsive, by most people's standards. But just the thought of taking the same commute to the same office at the same time with the same cup of coffee in hand every day made him bristle.

_Well... except the coffee. And damn could I go for some right now._ As he sauntered over to Eppes's SUV to join up with him, Ian made a mental note to head straight for the break room once they were inside.

"Morning," Eppes greeted him tersely. Ian simply nodded, and the two of them began the short walk from the garage to the office. "Looks like more rain today."

Ian glanced up at the overcast grey clouds above them, for once thankful that he wasn't out in the wilderness holed up in a tent. The rain may be a minor nuisance in L.A., insane drivers notwithstanding, but it was a major hindrance when hiking and tracking. _Reduced to chatting about the weather. Not exactly reassuring, Eppes._

The short car ride back to the office the previous evening had been filled with a long, noticeably tense silence. Normally, Ian would find that rather comfortable, but Eppes had never been the type to simply let Ian enjoy the quiet. They always found something to talk about, no matter how mundane. Ian often wondered if Don had been one of those agents who couldn't handle the loss of contact with human civilization that came with working Fugitive Recovery, and their strange friendship was his way of helping the lone wolf sniper to stay grounded.

Glancing over at Eppes, it was clear that there was still a bit of tension between them. This case had hit the two senior agents particularly hard, and he hoped that things would go back to normal once it was over. _Not that "normal" is really the right word for this team. But hell, maybe that really is why I like them so much._

"Don't suppose your brother pulled another soap bubble out of his hat?" Ian inquired, with his trademark sardonic smirk. After yesterday's events, he was vastly relieved to be feeling like his usual self again. At least for the most part.

"Tch, even Charlie's not that good. Looks like we're on our own as far as tracking Hoyle's concerned."

Ian, ever observant, cocked an eyebrow at the trace of venom with which Eppes spoke their target's name. _Not that I blame him._ The accusation his subconscious mind had generated through her in his nightmare had been pretty damn accurate. The FBI's hushed perception of Edgerton as having a violent streak wasn't entirely unfounded; he strongly believed in payback. And lethal injection was just too humane an end for Hoyle's ongoing killing spree.

"Be easier if we knew where to start."

"You think she's taken off?" Don asked, a bit worriedly.

Ian had considered that a strong possibility after losing her trail at the motel, but Granger's phone call had quickly changed his mind. "She gave up a lot to get here, to find a long lost daughter. My instinct says no."

_And while the Professor might have some smartass comment for that, his brother sure as hell knows better._

"Well, you know what. You should talk to Megan," Eppes suggested innocently. "See what kinda insight she got on Hoyle."

Ian gave him a brief sideways glance, trying not to show his discomfort with that idea. "I have all the insight I need."

"What, you don't ever get tunnel vision being on a manhunt this long? I did. Messed me up. Changed me. I had to give up that game."

"Well that's the difference. Hunting didn't change me. It chose me."

Don didn't comment on that, instead focusing on Colby, who had just left the office to meet them outside.

"Guys," Granger said urgently. "Got the phone dump back on the motel. Two calls to the Washington, D.C. office of the National Criminal Information Center."

"NCIC?" Ian asked, his sharp mind already piecing the situation together as Don picked up on the reason for Colby's slight distress.

"Wait, Hoyle had Megan's purse. So that's her contacts, her ID badge..."

"Accessing a federal database is a much better reason to grab a Fed than some crackpot hostage switch." _Well, that answers that question._

"These calls went out around 9 a.m.," Colby continued, "before the APB traveled that far. She was looking for information on Billy Rivers. And his attorney of record."

"Adam Benton... All right, you on that?"

"Yeah," Granger immediately responded, already heading off toward the garage.

"All right. Call me if you get anything." Ian briefly considered going with Granger, but Don's light touch on his arm quickly made the decision for him. He followed him inside and up to the ward room, where Eppes pulled the files they'd collected on Rivers and Benton. Ian knew that nothing in them would give them a new lead, but that didn't deter Eppes.

The tracker felt a bit of his usual impatience with working in the office returning, chafing at being left out of the action. But he somehow sensed that Don needed him around at that moment. Whether it was because of the strange understanding between them, the shared responsibility for what had happened to Buck Winters, Edgerton's preference for avoiding talking about things, or some combination of the three, Ian didn't know. But he did know that when he informed Don that he was going to get coffee and would be right back, the man had looked almost distressed.

* * *

"Ah, hell!" Eppes exclaimed, leaning forward in his seat and running a hand over his face. Ian glanced up from the file he'd been scanning through, tensing slightly at the unmistakable sign that they'd just hit what had to be their hundredth snag on this damn case.

"Yeah. Keep me posted," Don finished, before slamming the phone down on the table and finally meeting Edgerton's questioning eyes. "Benton's dead. Looks like she got the information she wanted before she killed him too."

"Shit."

Don apparently thought that was a pretty appropriate response to the news, because he said nothing as he immediately headed to the break room to fetch them more coffee. Ian knew it was out of a need to work off some of his mounting irritation, rather than courtesy, but the sniper was perfectly fine with that. Eppes knew how to sweeten his coffee just the way he liked it. While he waited, Ian formulated his response to the question he knew Don would ask the moment he returned to the ward room.

He held back from offering it as the steaming cup was placed in front of him, knowing it bothered people when he answered their questions before they posed them. _Although Don may well be used to it, having the Professor as a brother._

"All right, so what do we do now that our only lead is dead and Hoyle's another step ahead of us?"

Ian was just about to give his carefully considered reply when a voice behind him beat him to it.

"We get ahead of her. Find her daughter before she does."

Ian gave Reeves the friendliest grin he could manage under the circumstances; as grateful as he was that she had not been killed, he still hated when people interrupted him. She looked back at him warily, as if she had again failed to notice he was in the room until he forced her to acknowledge his presence.

Eppes seemed oblivious to their nonverbal exchange. "Megan? What do you...? Aren't you still supposed to be in the hospital?"

"Don, I can't just sit and do nothing while Crystal destroys this poor girl's life!" Ian noted that she sounded even more attached to this case than she had before they'd apprehended Buck, but didn't comment on it this time. It was understandable, and he and Don certainly hadn't done any better at keeping Hoyle out of their heads. "We have to find her before it's too late."

"We've been looking for her," Ian told Reeves tersely. _As if we couldn't figure that out for ourselves?_ "Not exactly easy to track down a child sold on the black market, even when it was done recently."

"No, it isn't," Reeves responded in a decidedly unfriendly tone. "But if a couple was desperate enough to buy a baby off the street, then psychologically they would probably be obsessive about covering it up. They would do everything they could to emulate a normal family. Including registering a social security number."

She turned to Don, uncrossing her arms from her chest as her defensiveness subsided. "When David called to check up on me and told me what was going on, I had Larry spring me. He's working with Charlie now, and they should be able to get us a list of numbers assigned in L.A. around when Crystal gave birth."

"All right. Good." Don rose from his seat to put a hand on her shoulder, either to comfort her or to reassure himself that she was alright. He also seized on the opportunity for a break from the tedious file surfing. "Come on, I'll buy you lunch. I'm sure you need it after that hospital food, huh?"

He gave Edgerton a brief nod as the two of them left, and Ian shuddered slightly at how Don's protectiveness reminded him of himself in a past life. Through the glass walls of the ward room, he could see Reeves casting another wary look behind her, and Ian wondered if David had also told her about his callous response to her injuries.

When the two of them had spoken briefly earlier that morning, he got the impression that Granger had talked Sinclair into understanding Ian's actions. Even if he didn't respect or agree with them.

And as he once again found himself utterly alone, Ian sipped his coffee and wondered just why the hell any of it concerned him.

* * *

Edgerton made an imposing picture, standing in the small utility room with his arms crossed over his chest. He was always like this when he was nearing the end of a hunt: like a predator coiling its muscles and getting ready to pounce.

After the Professor's voodoo had yielded them the name and address of her long lost daughter, Hoyle had finally slipped up; she had let her emotions overrule her judgment, let her attachments become a weakness she could not afford without compromising her efforts to escape. Though Ian strongly suspected that escape was no longer her goal.

_No. She's reached the end of her rope; now she wants to end it._

"Buck's about to make the call," Eppes reported.

When Hoyle had contacted Reeves and suggested that they could track her down through a final contact with her lover, the team had fiercely debated the possibility that she was luring them into a trap. Ian had stayed silent; he'd learned that this team, and particularly Don Eppes, always did things their way. It grated at him, but this was _their_ case now.

He'd trusted them to come to the same conclusion he had. This was their only shot at stopping Hoyle, which, not surprisingly, seemed to be an even deeper obsession for Eppes than it had been before Reeves was abducted. The team had made plans to cut her off with a roadblock and take her into custody.

Again Ian remained silent. He said nothing of how Hoyle's request to talk to Buck made it clear to him that she intended to die. She was smart enough to know how the standoff would end. In her mind, she had failed in her only remaining purpose for living, and now she was expecting to go down in a classic suicide-by-cop.

As Ian listened to the conversation between the two lovers, he felt oddly unsettled by the idea of granting Hoyle's request. It certainly wasn't that he was getting squeamish at the thought of blowing her brains out. _That is my job after all. And hell, yesterday I couldn't wait for the chance._ But the personal tone this case had taken with him, with all of them, moved it beyond the relative simplicity of killing the bad guy before he could kill one of them.

And, he had to admit, spending so much time inside Hoyle's head that she had manifested in his nightmares had been a disturbing reminder of the dangers of letting himself feel the burden of her crimes. _And I was worried about Reeves letting Hoyle get to her. Should've taken my own advice._

He hadn't escaped the heightened emotions that had gripped all of them during Reeves's abduction either, and the parallel his subconscious mind had drawn between her ordeal and Evelyn's death - and the roles he had played in both - would be haunting him for quite some time.

Ian had been eager to put a quick end to this case, despite the likelihood of it culminating in a lethal confrontation with Hoyle. And he'd known in his gut that he would be the one to take her down. Though he had eventually acknowledged the team's jurisdiction on this case, the fugitive killer was _his _prey, and his devotion to bringing her to justice – even in the form she would no doubt force them to deliver – went far beyond a sense of professional pride.

Now, on the threshold of making that undertaking a reality, he simply felt drained. This case, and the plethora of emotional difficulties it had stirred in all of them, had exhausted him in a way he hadn't experienced since his last tour in Afghanistan. And, in spite of his somewhat mixed feelings, he was still eager to end it and move on.

Don cast a sideways glance at Edgerton as the trace on Hoyle's phone recorded the two closest cell towers to her position. One more and they would be able to triangulate her exact location and track her movements. He reached for the phone as a third green circle appeared on the technician's screen, overlapping the other two, and a bright red dot was displayed in the small area connecting all three.

"This is Eppes. We need a helicopter and a roadblock." He looked to Ian again, who nodded his grim agreement. With no idea how many of those grenades the killer still had at her disposal, it would be better to have the cavalry on hand and not take any chances.

Hoyle said her final goodbye to Buck, and Ian wrestled his mild unease back into the fathomless pit that stored his emotions. He removed his headset and pointed at the screen.

"The signal's moving south," he informed Eppes. "She's running for Mexico."

"Right. She's got nothing left to lose."

"Anything in front of her's fair game."

They joined the rest of the team, plus several SWAT agents and highway patrol officers, in the locker room, briefing them as they gathered their gear. Eppes chose an isolated spot along Hoyle's path, just after a bend surrounded by large hills. She wouldn't see the roadblock until she drove into it, but the agents would easily be able to station a recon team north of their position to give advanced warning of her approach, which might make all the difference with the amount of ordnance they could be dealing with. Ian had seen the aftermath of a kamikaze strike with a vehicle full of explosives, and did not have any intention of dying that way.

* * *

One of the traits that made Edgerton such a remarkable sniper was his natural penchant for operating free of anything more than a trace of emotional influence. The moment Ian reached into the back of his truck and pulled his rifle out of its case, any lingering doubt or discomfort vanished. _There'll be time to sort my head out later._

He slipped his bulletproof tactical vest seamlessly over his tight black T-shirt, stocking the pockets with extra ammunition. He'd never needed more than one bullet per target to get the job done, but it never hurt to be prepared. He didn't bother to transfer his pistol to a thigh holster for easier access. They would already be screwed by the time Hoyle got close enough for him to use it.

The team was just settling into their positions when the recon unit reported a silver sedan approaching. Ian did one final check of his weapon, a habit he'd developed in combat to relieve the effects of any excess adrenaline in his system, and noticed Eppes doing the same. He was vaguely familiar with all of the team's weapons qualifications; Don was a decent shot, but he was no expert marksman, which meant he had no reason to be using a marksman's rifle. Especially with the FBI's best sniper on the scene.

He didn't have time to say anything before Hoyle's sedan came into view, gradually slowing as police cars blocked her in. Ian suspected that would only serve to heighten her aggression, as it did with most cornered animals.

At Don's signal, Reeves dialed Hoyle's cell phone to offer her a final chance to turn herself in. He could tell from the instantly disappointed look on the other agent's face that his prediction about Hoyle's motives had, for once, proven correct.

"She's coming," Reeves warned them, raising her rifle awkwardly against the vehicle she was using for cover. Ian wondered again what the hell Eppes was thinking, letting her handle a rifle in the current situation when she could barely handle one on the training range. But it was only a passing thought as he settled himself into position and took careful aim at the target's forehead.

His breathing and heart rate slowed into the calm rhythm that came automatically to him whenever the butt of his rifle met his shoulder.

As if from a distance, he heard the screeching of tires, accompanied by David shouting, "She's gonna try to run us!"

All of the sounds echoing off the hills around them were instinctively filtered into some distant, not quite conscious part of the sniper's awareness as his finger tensed over the trigger.

It was only after he saw the hole appear in the windshield and the blood spatter over the inside of the vehicle that Ian realized that one of those sounds had been the distinctive crack of a rifle being fired.

Against every bit of training he'd ever received, he pulled back from his scope and looked over to Eppes. Ian gaped in stunned silence as the man ejected the casing from the smoking barrel of the gun. He turned his attention back toward the target, to confirm Eppes's kill, and noticed David break from cover. Colby grabbed his partner's arm and pulled him back, yelling at him to wait.

Which was what they all did for a few long, tense seconds, until the car exploded. Ian ducked back as a piece of flaming debris was cast onto a trajectory that came a little too close to his direction. He noticed David looking slightly pale at the realization that Hoyle had pulled the pin from a grenade before charging at them, which she had reflexively dropped when Eppes's bullet found its mark.

Eppes allowed Reeves to lead Granger and Sinclair toward the burning wreckage to clear the scene, while he stored his weapon in the back of his SUV. Ian saw him stiffen when he noticed the sniper making his way toward him, and halted a few steps away.

"Nice shot, Eppes," Ian offered thoughtfully. Don said nothing, refusing to even meet Ian's eyes as he closed the trunk and headed for the driver's side door.

* * *

Ian Edgerton never said goodbye. He didn't see the point. It only prolonged his inevitable departure from wherever he happened to be and delayed his arrival at wherever he happened to be going. That was how he liked to live, moving seamlessly from one hunt to the next. Bureaucracy occasionally interfered with that, but, for the most part, the sniper/tracker agent was allowed to come and go as he chose. _Not many people ever get to enjoy that kind of freedom. And it's not as if anyone's going to miss me._

This time, however, he had left something undone. And Ian Edgerton disliked loose ends even more than he disliked goodbyes. He'd never had any reason to visit Don's apartment, but it was easy enough to get the address from the FBI's records. He'd lost track of how long he'd been sitting in his truck, parked in front of the building, deliberating what to say.

_Dammit, why am I doing this? It's not like I didn't warn him._ No one knew that he'd witnessed Don's confrontation with Colby. The junior agent had been the only one to stay after the team leader had dismissed them all to go home for the evening, apparently intending to finally talk to Don about what had happened with Buck Winters and Crystal Hoyle.

His insistence didn't surprise Ian at all. One thing he'd learned about Agent Colby Granger these past few days: he was exceptionally compassionate, giving the same consideration to the difficulties of others as he would to his own. _Hell, he was even concerned for _my_ feelings. Most people wouldn't bother to consider that I have any._ He'd only known one other person who rivaled Granger in that respect.

Don's reaction hadn't surprised him either; he was desperate not to acknowledge to his team his feelings about everything that had transpired during Reeves's abduction. Ian didn't get the impression that he intended to acknowledge them in front of his family either, judging by the guilt-ridden look he'd shared with his brother after threatening Benton.

So now, Ian Edgerton found himself taking responsibility for ensuring that the man's – that his friend's - state of mind remained balanced. Whatever his own feelings on the incident may have been, Ian and Don had made this bed together. And Don needed to know that he wouldn't have to lie in it alone. _Heh, there's an awkward mental image._

Figuring the words would come to him when he needed them, Ian finally got out of his truck and took the stairs to the fourth floor. His eyes scanned over the numbers on the doors until he found the one he wanted. He took a slow breath, steadying himself for what was to come; Don's reaction to Colby's "prying," as he had called it, had been defensive to say the least.

He noticed a woman down the hall giving him short, suspicious glances as he knocked on the door. It wasn't unusual; as uncomfortable as other agents were around him, civilians were even worse. He couldn't really blame them. He did take a certain measure of pride in his predatory appearance, and his tendency to dress in almost all black only enhanced his imposing presence. Once or twice, a passerby had even called the police on him after noticing the distinctive bulge of his weapon under his jacket. _That's always fun to explain._

When the door opened, the first thing Ian's sharp senses picked up on was the unmistakable smell of alcohol. Not overpowering, but enough to tell him that Eppes had been drinking something stronger than his usual bottle of beer.

"Ian," he greeted, a bit too suspiciously for his comfort. "Figured you'd be headed out of town by now." _Don't I wish..._

"Just wanted to stop by and thank you again for your help. I don't think either of us had this in mind when I thanked you the first time."

Eppes gave a soft snort, opening the door further and reluctantly stepping aside as an invitation. Ian had expected something akin to the stereotypical "bachelor pad," but the term wasn't quite applicable to what he found in Don's apartment. "Barren" would be a better description. Aside from a few papers scattered on the table, the place barely even looked as if it had been lived in. He had to give Eppes credit; for something to be considered spartan even by Ian Edgerton's meticulous standards was quite an accomplishment.

Don dropped back onto the small couch that occupied most of the living area, picking up the glass of whiskey he'd been drinking. He didn't invite Ian to join him, which was just as well since the sniper always felt more at ease standing on the periphery of a conflict.

"You give your report to the AD yet?" Ian asked cautiously.

"What? On Hoyle? Nah, I'm waiting for the final forensics to be processed. Turn it all in at once and be done with it."

"I was actually referring to Buck."

He didn't miss the sidelong glance Eppes shot him before he took a long swig of his drink. "It'll be in the report," he answered shortly.

Ian had been expecting that – neither of them was the type to cover up their questionable decisions, even with something as severe as beating information out of a prisoner – but the hard edge to Don's voice made it clear that his feelings about the matter were still rather... chaotic.

"You're gonna catch a lot of heat for that, ya know." _No shit, Eppes. But at least I'm not denying to myself that it happened._

"Not the first time I've resorted to that," Ian said darkly. "But I'm not sure how easy it'll be for you to justify it to the guys in charge." _Because let's not forget who made that call._

He knew Eppes hated answering to the powers that be, but he didn't expect the look of betrayal he received. "Yeah, guess it's a lot easier when you can just walk away."

For a brief moment, Ian was stunned at the unprovoked outburst, but he quickly felt his temper flare at the casual dismissal in Eppes's tone. "I thought you were grateful for me being here. Or was that just because it saved you from having to do your own dirty work?"

Eppes shook his head and downed the rest of the whiskey, refusing to comment on Ian's sarcastic - but not insincere - accusation. _No damn wonder Granger looked so furious when he stormed out earlier. What the hell is going on with him?_ Ian was never one to give up, but he was just about to deem the conversation a lost cause when Eppes turned back to him.

"You think it was worth it?" His voice was soft, carefully controlled, but Ian could still hear the antagonism in it. He wasn't sure what answer Don was looking for, whether he wanted Ian to vindicate their actions or condemn him for making the decision. _Guess I'll take a page from Evelyn's book. Tell the simple truth._

"Winters is in custody, Hoyle's gone, and we got Reeves back. I'd say we came out ahead in all the ways that matter."

"_We_ got Reeves back?" Don snapped, slamming his glass down on the table. "I don't remember you being very helpful when she was bleeding to death, Ian."

Edgerton gave him the patented cold, hard stare he usually reserved for the interrogation room. "Aside from actually securing the scene and pursuing an armed and dangerous fugitive?" He paused for just a second, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest. "Or at least trying to."

"Yeah, exactly!" Don was shouting now, getting up from the couch to meet Ian's unflinching gaze. "You didn't give a damn about Megan! All you cared about was getting even with Hoyle for wounding your oh so important pride."

"I'd say you're the one who wanted to get even with her, Eppes. That really was some nice shooting, especially since I know you're not a qualified marksman."

"I was doing my damn job! Protecting my team! If that means I have to be the one to take the shot, then so be it."

"That's just it, Eppes. You don't have to be the one taking the shots. You just always have to be the one calling them! And I hate to break this to you, but that means taking some actual responsibility for the decisions you make. Not just beating yourself up out of guilt!" _God... get out of my head, Ev._

Don recoiled at the harsh resentment in Ian's voice; he'd never known the man to be anything but cool and collected, aside from a few particularly frustrating moments in this case. His own anger momentarily gave way to confusion at Ian's stinging rebuke.

Ian, whose fury was quickly subsiding into the back of his mind, didn't miss the shocked and somewhat lost look that flashed in Don's eyes as he turned away. In an unexpected moment of compassion - which seemed not quite so unexpected with this team – Ian placed a hand on Don's shoulder, just as he'd done after his confrontation with Benton. But this time he offered a soft-spoken piece of advice before he left.

"You can't hold the weight of the world on your shoulders, Don."

_At least... not alone._

* * *

_Don and Ian generally are not emotional characters, so writing them as such, especially both of them together, is a challenge to say the least. But hey, who doesn't like a good challenge? And if anyone's confused by the seeming reversal in Don's attitude toward Ian (wanting him around and then being pissed at him) it's because taking the shot on Hoyle was his breaking point, which will be touched upon further in the coming chapters._


	14. Facing the Music

_Sorry for the long delay. Life and stuff, ya know. I will keep updating until this is finished, but I can't promise they will always be timely. This chapter takes place between Two Daughters and Pandora's Box. Hope you enjoy._

* * *

"You've worked with the Los Angeles Violent Crimes squad several times over the past two years," the man began in carefully measured tone. "What is your opinion of Agent Eppes?"

"My opinion of him?"

"As an agent. A team leader."

"He gets the job done. And he gets it done well."

Another man spoke, this one decidedly more determined, though it was hard to tell what toward. "He ever seem... aggressive? Unnecessarily forceful with a suspect or with his team?"

There was a pause before the answer came. "He seems passionate about the job."

Subtle glances were exchanged between all of the white-haired, business suit-clad, poker-faced men on the opposite side of the long rectangular conference table, and then a third speaker finally posed the question – albeit a strange variation of it - that he had been anticipating for the past hour of what seemed like a never ending inquisition.

"And just how much did that 'passion' influence his judgment during the case in question?"

"Agent Reeves had been abducted by a violent fugitive. As team leader, he was responsible for her safety." The reply was delivered calmly but firmly, leaving no room to doubt the rationality of their actions. Even if they had admittedly been desperate.

"So he shot Crystal Hoyle as payback for threatening a member of his team?"

That question threw the agent off guard; from the moment he'd received the official summons three weeks earlier, he had meticulously thought over every response to every question they would ask. Despite his unanticipated appearance before a full review board – he'd been hoping for nothing more than an informal inquiry, and had been sorely disappointed – the meeting had mostly gone as he had predicted, aside from the confusing preoccupation with Don Eppes.

From what his keenly trained observational skills could tell, one of the men on the board – Assistant Director Wright of the L.A. office – was trying to defend Eppes's actions. _At least as much as he can without putting his own ass in the fire._ Two of the others seemed to be neutral, only interested in conducting a standard review of a case that had, in many unfortunate ways, been anything but standard. But the remaining three – the big wigs, he knew – seemed intent on crucifying Agent Eppes.

And not for the reason he'd expected, which was why he suddenly found his practiced calm demeanor faltering as he mentally scrambled for an answer. He didn't have to worry too much about them noticing his unease; his stoic façade belied nothing, as always. But his quick wit wasn't doing him much good in this instance. Even _he_ could hardly deliver a sarcastic quip to the directors of the FBI during a formal investigation.

Hell, he had even been reduced to wearing a damn suit.

He clenched his hand in his lap, resisting the urge to pull at the tie around his neck, as he finally offered the best response he could muster. "Sir, Crystal Hoyle was an armed and dangerous fugitive who destroyed a meth lab to steal the grenades she had in the car that she drove straight at our roadblock. Agent Reeves tried to convince her to stand down; I believe they developed some sort of... understanding... when she was held hostage. Hoyle was determined to die – and to take us with her. Someone had to take that shot."

"And why, exactly," one of the directors, the harshest, not-quite-shouted, "was that someone not _you_, Agent Edgerton?"

_Shit._

One of the more neutral inquisitors spoke up next. "It does seem rather odd that Agent Eppes felt the need to take the shot with one of the top five best snipers in the country on the scene."

Ian wanted to remind the deceptively cheerful old bastard that he had moved up to fourth, but held his tongue as he deliberated how to answer that. So far, it looked as if he would get out of this unscathed. The board had been disturbingly unconcerned with his and Don's decision to beat information out of Hoyle's accomplice, even when he had admitted to them without hesitation what he had done behind those closed blinds. Sometimes it was better to offer up information willfully; any indication that he was holding back would be looked upon with suspicion. He hadn't held back, and he hadn't lied.

But he had a great respect for Agent Don Eppes, and he would be damned if he'd let the Bureau throw him under the bus for one slight error in judgment during a deeply personal case. _And they do have a point. If Eppes hadn't shot Hoyle, I would have._ A cold-blooded murderer was dead, which would have been the result no matter who pulled the trigger. Don had simply jumped the gun – literally.

Which, he suspected, was what the board was truly concerned about. It had concerned him too, the way Don had acted that day. The way he had steadfastly avoided discussing the incident with his team, his uncharacteristic defensiveness when Ian had shown up at his apartment and the argument they'd had that night. Ian didn't hold that against Eppes, and he never second-guessed his choice to visit Don before leaving Los Angeles. _Because for whatever reason he considers me a friend._

_And what the hell? I figure I owe him one for that case anyway._ From what the review board had asked him, Ian suspected that Don's official report had severely understated the force he had used in his interrogation of Buck Winters.

"I was positioned several yards to the right of Agent Eppes. From where we were in relation to Hoyle's vehicle, and given the speed at which she was advancing on us, Eppes happened to have the clearer shot." _God, I sound like his brother. Again._

Ian, despite his rugged emotional discipline and carefully controlled exterior, fought not to show any sign of nervousness as the members of the board scrutinized his answer. It wasn't exactly a lie. For anyone else, it would likely be true. A diagonal shot into a car window was often complicated by the car's frame, which was not only a visual obstruction but something even a high velocity round was unlikely to penetrate. But Ian was exceptionally skilled, even among the most talented and experienced of snipers. Of course, that also meant there were very few people the board could get to validate – or rather invalidate - his claim.

Professor Eppes and his voodoo could probably do it, but Ian suspected that even the timid mathematician would have the guts to stand up to the FBI if it meant protecting his brother. _If he can stand up to me, he can stand up to anyone._

* * *

As a general rule, Ian Edgerton disliked bars. If he wanted to drink, he usually did it alone. And, aside from the occasional bottle of beer or glass of scotch, he only experienced such an inclination after a particularly frustrating case. Except, of course, for his unusually sociable experiences with Team Eppes.

Tonight was another rare exception, using a combination of alcohol and atmosphere to calm his frayed nerves. He suspected the inclination to drink was, at least for the most part, a delayed reaction to the frustration of the Crystal Hoyle case. After that incident, he'd immediately been drawn into another hunt, which had lasted the past nine weeks. The summons from the review board had been relayed to him in the field, which had instantly alerted him to the seriousness of the matter. No one bothered Agent Ian Edgerton when he was on a hunt.

As he always had when he was on a mission, he'd set aside any and all distractions from the previous case and focused solely on the task at hand. A psychiatrist would probably nag him with some inane babble about "repressing his emotions," but it had always worked for him. And, in his line of work, he couldn't often afford the effort of pondering over his feelings. But there were times that even he just needed to take a break and sort himself out. Since the review board had "offered" him a few days off, he'd decided this would have to be one of those times.

Unfortunately, he preferred to conduct his sporadic soul-searching in the wilderness, where he felt most comfortable being alone with his thoughts. It was familiar to him, even soothing. _And_ _if I ever think _too_ much and lose it, I won't be able to hurt anyone._

The wry thought brought a bittersweet smirk to his lips as he pictured what Evelyn would say to that: _"Don't be ridiculous, Ian. You're too much of a professional to kill anyone in a fit of rage." _She was one of the few people who'd embraced his twisted sense of humor without batting an eye. _Probably because hers was just as bad._

Because the powers that be had requested he stay in the area during his involuntary leave, Ian had settled for a late night at the bar. Not to socialize, but to observe. He tended to feel a bit suffocated when he wasn't on a hunt, practicing his skills. Sitting in a dark booth in the back of a crowded bar did at least give him the chance to observe people, which was one of the skills he most favored.

Along with his chameleon-like talent for blending invisibly into any environment. No one paid him any undue attention, and that was exactly how he liked it. He was a predator, hiding in the grass and capturing every sound, every movement, with the ears of a bat and the eyes of a raptor. The only thing that would make him more comfortable in this moment would be having a rifle in his arms.

Ian took another slow sip of his drink as he wondered what Eppes had felt when he lined up Crystal Hoyle's head in his crosshairs. Despite his conviction that all had ended as it should have in that case, there was a small, nagging part of him that wondered if the review board's concerns about Don might be justified. Ian had seen plenty of Agents either burn out or go dirty after too many years on the job, and Eppes had even admitted to him that his time in Fugitive Recovery had taken a severe enough toll on him to drive him back to regular field work.

Oddly enough, Ian found himself wishing that Don had opened up to him that night, rather than pushing him away. He hadn't heard anything about the team in the last nine weeks – other than a brief recognition, in the science and technology section of a newspaper he'd picked up, of some new mathematical application, designed by none other than Dr. Charles Eppes – and idly wondered how the rest of them had been affected by the fallout.

_Wonder if Eppes even knows yet that they're looking to put his head on a pike. _It was standard procedure during an inquiry into an agent suspected of severe misconduct for any other culpable parties to be questioned first, before the agent was informed.

As he finished off his drink, Ian wondered for the hundredth time why Eppes and his team mattered so much to him. He had been involved in cases with other teams that had gone horribly wrong, cases where inquiries had led to agents being dismissed from the bureau and, in one instance, brought up on felony charges.

He knew the answer was both simple and complex. The simple part was that none of those agents were Don Eppes. But, as much time as he had spent contemplating his bizarre relationship with that man and his team – and his family, to make things even more strange – Ian still could not define the emotional investment he seemed to have made in their lives. And the impact they had on his.

He was, by nature, a loner to the core, but Ian Edgerton was beginning to wish he could talk to someone about this whole situation. _Not a damn shrink. If Evelyn were here- But she isn't. So you'll just have to deal with it._

He set his glass down and stood to leave, suddenly uninterested in the throng gathering for happy hour. He was halfway to the door when a soft feminine voice unexpectedly stopped him in his tracks.

"Agent Edgerton?"

He turned toward the voice, senses heightened, and was surprised to find a familiar face. "Agent Lake."

_Huh... maybe there's someone I can talk to after all._

* * *

_I know... "Gah! Cliffhanger!" But it had to be done. I originally planned to just skip straight to Pandora's Box after the review board (which is briefly mentioned in the episode, if you're wondering what's up with that) but the idea of Ian bumping into Terry just seemed too fun to pass up._


End file.
